TCOT Skewed Skein
by Old English D
Summary: Attempting to fix TCOT Heartbroken Bride, my least favorite PM movie.
1. Chapter 1

_CHAPTER 1_

 _The elevator doors slid open, exposing the dimly lit hallway leading to his apartment. She took two steps, then a third, paused, and the elevator doors shut behind her. In a panic she whirled and tried to pry them open again, but it was too late. She had never been a coward, but she had never treated him so badly before, and the elevator was supposed to be her safety net._

 _She laid her forehead against the cool metal and took a deep breath, nervous to see him, to hear him, to touch him; not knowing what embarrassed her most: the months spent pushing the best man she had ever known away from her, or the hurtful words flung at him to protect the undefinable emotion that had consumed her for the past several months._

 _He deserved better. And now he was home, and she would tell him that._

 _So she turned and walked purposefully toward his door, the door she had passed through for so many years to be with the love of her life, the one man who challenged her, championed her, made her laugh, made her cry...the man she knew without a doubt loved her and only her. The man she loved without a doubt and with all her heart._

 _The doorbell sounded jarringly loud in her ears as she pressed the button. They both had keys to the other's apartments, but still rang the doorbell as a nod to decorum. She smiled. It was something they laughed about sometimes, wrapped in sheets tumbled and tangled by incredible lovemaking, fully aware that every tenant in their respective buildings knew very well what they were up to and coyly turned blind eyes to it._

 _After nearly thirty seconds her smile turned to a frown and she rang the doorbell again, toe involuntarily beginning to tap in frustration. He had to know it was her. Who else would be ringing his doorbell at 10:15 on a Wednesday night?_

 _Finally, she heard footsteps and the deadbolt being shot back. A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach as the door opened, and there he stood in the blue bathrobe she had given him for Christmas, and obviously nothing else._

" _Della." He stepped quickly into the hallway, pulled the door closed, glancing guiltily behind him as he did so._

 _And her world ended._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You don't have to attend the ceremony."

She jerked her head away from the window she was staring out of dreamily. "What?"

"I said; you don't have to attend the ceremony if you don't want to. You can stay at the hotel and I'll pick you up for the reception." He drove with his left hand while his right hand rested on her thigh, fingers stroking a lazy pattern, an old habit resurrected after a long separation and eventual reconciliation. She sat close to him, nearly in the middle of the seat, as she had from the beginning of their exhilarating life adventure.

"Of course I'll attend the ceremony with you. I don't want any single women guests to get the impression that you're available." His profile was as strong and imposing as ever and still drew looks from women of all ages. She had dealt both successfully and unsuccessfully with his attractiveness from the moment she met him, and nothing had changed much after more years than she could ever believe.

"Okay," he said happily. "Maybe you could wear the emerald."

When had he become so easily pleased? That was her particular talent. He had said so thousands of times. And that was not an exaggeration. "I planned my entire outfit around the emerald." His dimpled grin pleased her, proving his assessment of her talent. "Do you think we'll have time for a nap before the ceremony?

Long fingers tightened their grasp on her thigh. "My dear, I planned our arrival at the hotel specifically to allow for a nap."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _She felt his presence before she heard him, as it had always been. As it would always be. "I hope your socks are full of sand."_

 _He dropped to the cool pile of stones beside her, pulling his legs up to his chest like hers. "They are."_

" _Good." He hated it when foreign objects found their way into his socks. No matter how many times she lectured him that hate should be reserved for child molesters and the New York Yankees, he maintained that sandy socks should hold a place somewhere between the two. "How did you figure out where I was?"_

" _I thought of the most unlikely place you would run to and told Pinky to meet me at the airport."_

" _That was a gamble." She had flown commercial, but of course he had taken advantage of his friendship with renowned aviatrix Pinky Brier._

" _Not really."_

" _Smug, aren't we?"_

" _No. The most unlikely place you would run to was here." 'Here' being the town where she grew up and had only visited twice since leaving for California at the age of nineteen._

 _Damn. She should have fled to someplace_ _ **more**_ _obvious so he would still be flying around the country in search of her. "Congratulations. You outsmarted me."_

 _He didn't reply, which she appreciated greatly._

 _Two noisily honking geese flew along the shoreline and they both watched the fowl disappear into the impending sunset._

 _He nodded his head toward the receding pair of geese. "When geese migrate they form a 'V' in flight. It's called a skein. Have you ever seen that?"_

 _She snorted. "Of course I have."_

" _Then you know that one side of the 'V' is always longer than the other. Do you know why?"_

 _e_

 _Her eyes followed his, squinting a bit in the setting sun. She shrugged. "Something instinctual in regard to aerodynamics and wind shear?"_

 _His face dimpled with glee as he shook his head. "There are more geese in it."_

 _She wanted to laugh freely into the wind but instead laid her head sideways atop her pulled-up knees and regarded him with a knowingly blasé expression in her eyes. "Exactly how long have you been waiting to pull that on me?"_

 _His dimples deepened, if that were even possible. "My dad pulled it on me when I was six."_

 _The sound of white-capped waves curling over the wave ahead of it accompanied a long silence between them._

" _I suppose you have a speech all worked out," she spoke suddenly._

 _He shook his head. "No."_

" _Then why are you here?"_

" _You promised you would never run away from me."_

" _And you promised you would never cheat on me."_

 _He held his breath for several seconds. "Did I?"_

 _She stared at him unblinkingly. "Was there a woman in your apartment yesterday?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Did you sleep with her?"_

" _Yes."_

 _Tears pooled in her eyes and Della finally blinked. "Oh," she said unsteadily, not quite prepared for his honesty._

 _His heart nearly stopped at that moment. "Did you want me to lie?" he managed to choke out._

" _No. I wanted you to say no and for it to be the truth."_

" _I wish I could, baby. I wish that more than anything."_

 _She turned away from him to once again stare out over the deep blue expanse of water, unspoken recriminations and excuses swirling in the breeze between them. "Do you love her?"_

" _No."_

" _How long have you been sleeping with her?"_

" _Just that one time."_

" _Do you want to sleep with her again?"_

" _No."_

 _His habit was to either answer questions with questions or simply and with no explanations – as if he were on the witness stand. She appreciated that choice on his part as well, because she had no desire whatsoever for protracted explanations. "Can you forgive me for what I've done and said?"_

" _Absolutely."_

" _Do you_ _ **want**_ _to?"_

" _Yes." He picked up a stone from the pile and turned it over and over with his fingers. "Can you ever trust me again?"_

 _She hesitated. "Yes."_

 _He sighed heavily. "Della, I promise one day when I ask you that question you won't hesitate."_

 _She unclasped her arms and stretched her legs out in front of her, feet bare and covered with cool, white sand. The stone he had picked up was a fine example of an indigenous fossil. She had searched and searched for such a stone as a child and never found one, and he sits down literally on top of one. "Do you know how to get down from an elephant?"_

 _He looked at her puzzled, perplexed by her question. "No. How do you get down from an elephant?"_

" _You don't get down from an elephant, silly. You get down from a duck." She struggled to smile. "My aunt told me that when_ _ **I**_ _was six."_


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the lovely sentiments! A new job took all of my energy for a long time, but I'm happy to be back reading and writing!

CHAPTER 2

He signed his name with his usual bold hybrid of printing and cursive, legible and recognizable: _**Perry Mason**_ _and_ _ **Della Street**_. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, bursting with pride that she was here with him, so beautiful and poised.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder. "Perry!"

"Hello, Max. It's great to see you." His fingers caressed Della's arm. "This is Della."

Max Parrish, father of the bride, decked out in a tuxedo with tails, broke into a pleased smile. "Of course! What a pleasure to finally put a face to a name. Glad you could come, Della."

Della extended her hand and Max Parrish enthusiastically shook it. "I am, too. And I'm glad to meet you after so many years of talking to you on the telephone."

"Not nearly as glad as I am to finally meet the beautiful woman with the beautiful voice."

"It's my pleasure. I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I love weddings."

"So do I, usually," Max replied, lowering his voice a bit. "My wife has always called me a hopeless romantic." He sighed and turned to Perry Mason. "It's been too long, Perry."

"Yes, it has been." Why did he think Max's attitude wasn't as jovial as it was a moment ago? "Where are the women in your life?" Introducing Max Parrish to Della had gone well, but introducing Laura Parrish to her could be one of the most difficult things he had ever done if the mother-of-the-bride wasn't on her best behavior.

Max laughed with great affection. "They're upstairs giggling and primping. I haven't seen either one of them since early this morning." He looked past Perry Mason over his shoulder, nodding toward a dark-haired tuxedoed young man entering the spacious foyer serving as a reception area. "There's the groom, Gary Hawkes."

Perry glanced at the bridegroom briefly. "Ah. A handsome young man. You must be proud."

"He's a star on a daytime soap opera, _One Life for Tomorrow,_ " Della said, craning her neck to follow the young man as he exited the foyer. "I happened to see that soap once."

Perry's eyes held a special twinkle as he squeezed Della's arm. "You happened to see it twice. _**I**_ saw it once." He caught Max Parrish's eye. "As far as soap operas go it wasn't that bad."

The father of the bride frowned and shook his head. "Whoever thought I'd be father-in-law to Brad Hawkes's boy. It's a strange world, Perry." He grasped Perry Mason's hand in a hearty handshake. "Well, duty calls. Enjoy yourselves!"

Della moved closer to Perry as Max Parrish vanished into a throng of arriving guests, while a string quartet played through all of Vivaldi's four seasons. "Please tell me who Brad Hawkes is and why the world is strange."

"Brad Hawkes **was** Max's co-founding partner in his talent agency. The partnership broke up and they never spoke to one another again. Brad died a couple years ago in a car accident along with his wife."

"How awful for Gary!" Parrish Talent Promotions. Why hadn't she connected the dots before now?

Perry nodded, slipping his arm around her waist, enjoying the music and being with her. "The boy took it hard and it was his relationship with Kaitlynn that pulled him through the grief. And here he comes again." He pulled Della closer as the young man approached them. "Mr. Hawkes, this is Della Street, and I am Perry Mason."

Gary Hawkes, slightly built and with the highly styled long hair favored by young men nowadays grasped the attorney's outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Mason. Kay always says you're her favorite uncle."

Perry cleared his throat. "I'm her _**only**_ uncle."

Did she know Kaitlynn called Perry 'uncle'? Della searched repressed memories. Yes, she knew. Kaitlynn called him uncle and he'd always liked having a little girl call him that since his brother had presented him with only nephews. She chuckled suddenly to herself, remembering how Perry had replied to the groom.

Gary Hawkes popped a little salute. "Well, Mr. Mason, I'm honored you could attend our wedding." He nodded toward Della. "And it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Street."

Perry tugged Della away from the guest book podium. "What a nice young man," she observed. "Nothing like the character he plays on _One Life for Tomorrow_."

"Miss Street, are you star-struck?"

Della snorted, and Perry grinned. "Mr. Mason, the bride and groom are only minor celebrities compared to you, and I've known for many years exactly how you put your pants on."

Perry hugged her to his side, still grinning. "And not one woman here is as beautiful and accomplished as you, Miss Street."

"Keep saying things like that and you may be a very lucky man tonight."

Perry guffawed and more than a few heads swiveled in their direction as a murmur of recognition passed through the enormous reception foyer. "As lucky as I was this afternoon?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, eyes sparkling. "Maybe more."

Before he could respond, a young woman dressed in an off-the-shoulder white taffeta blouse and long black skirt walked boldly up to them. Her hair, brassy blonde and piled on her head in a curly up-do, only detracted from her attractiveness. "Mr. Mason," she said in a raspy voice, "I'm Hannah Hawkes, Gary's sister. I'm a big fan of yours."

Perry shook her hand. "Ah, the maid of honor."

Della wondered how he knew Hannah Hawkes was the maid of honor and if she would be introduced to her.

Hannah cocked her head to the side. "I just wanted to tell you that I've studied all your cases, and I hope I'm half as good as you are some day."

Della suspected Perry's ego was about to be massaged, and that she would not be introduced as he inquired of Hannah Hawkes, "You're a lawyer?"

Hannah ducked her head with a touch of flirty humility. "Knock on wood. Up to a few years ago I thought I was a singer...but that didn't work out so I switched tracks. I take the bar next week. Wish me luck?"

"I certainly do," Perry replied gallantly.

Hannah beamed. "Thank you. Maybe we can talk later?"

Perry bowed. "Of course we can."

Hannah Hawkes bestowed a radiant smile on Perry Mason and walked away with a sway to her hips that had not been present on her approach, never bothering to be introduced to her idol's companion.

"And that is exactly why I chose to attend the ceremony," Della announced once Hannah Hawkes was out of earshot.

Perry turned to her, a confused look on his face. "What?"

She patted his arm. "Never mind, darling. Let's find seats and make up stories about all the guests."

They turned toward the room where shiny white resin chairs had been arranged for the ceremony just as an elegant woman with shining blonde hair cut in a chic, sleek bob and dressed similarly to the maid of honor in a white poufy-sleeved organza blouse and long black skirt glided down the grand curving staircase. A red rose bud held in one gloved hand, the other hand floating at her side, feet never appearing to touch a single stair, she abruptly halted and smiled with what appeared to be relief. "Perry! I'm _**so**_ glad could you make it!"

Perry took several steps away from Della, the hand that had been resting on her hip so comfortably held out toward the vision of loveliness that could only be Laura Parrish, the mother-of-the-bride. "Laura."

Laura Parrish, slim and coolly beautiful, kissed Perry Mason's cheek. "Perry Mason always keeps his word," she whispered in his ear. Perfectly manicured fingers clutched his shoulders. "And you have not changed a bit. You remember what I used to say – you'll never change, Perry Mason, you'll only weather."

"Laura, you look wonderful. I've obviously been exposed to the elements far more than you have."

Laura Parrish laughed the type of practiced laugh certain women employed in an attempt to enchant men. "You flatter me, Perry." She leaned forward and slid a rose boutonniere into the lapel of his suit coat. "And you sell yourself short. You are still the handsomest man in the room."

Perry shook his head and swore he heard a rattling. How many times had someone else told him he sold himself short about his looks? And where the hell was she? It was time for what could be the most awkward introduction in the history of the world.

On cue, Della appeared behind Laura Parrish, an amused smile on her lips, glinting hazel eyes locked with Perry's over the taller woman's shoulder as she made her way back to Perry's side. Della was considered slightly taller than average and definitely attractive, but she felt short and plain in the presence of a woman she had only spoken with once, but whose existence had battled for twenty-five years.

"And you're Della, of course." Laura Parrish turned to acknowledge Perry Mason's long-time employee. "I've heard so much about you."

Knowing that to be unlikely, Della began to feel less plain in the noticeably chilly air surrounding Laura Parrish. "Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Parrish," she said with sincere graciousness. "This must be quite a day for you."

"Please call me Laura." Laura flicked her eyes quickly back to Perry Mason. "Thank you for coming, Perry. You have no idea how much it means to me."

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek again and Perry grasped her upper arms, holding her close to his chest. Della watched him watch Laura Parrish walk away. Damn that mask of granite he employed so effectively.

She had _**definitely**_ made the right decision to attend the ceremony.

A pony-tailed photographer jumped toward them, camera at the ready. "How about a picture with the lovely lady?"

And what an interesting photo it would be for the wedding photo album.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Henny Street regarded her sister-in-law with deeply etched concern on her shiny pink face. "How did he know you were here?"_

" _He says he thought of the most unlikely place I would go, and chartered a plane."_

" _Oh, he's good."_

 _She smiled wanly. "That's what he does – he plays hunches. I should have just gone to my apartment. He never would have found me there." But she hadn't wanted to be alone, and for all his rigidity and judgement of her life, Carter was her brother and would ultimately protect her, with Henny's prodding._

 _Henny drew circles on the tablecloth with a short, blunt fingernail. "What are you going to do?" She had no idea things were so bad between her husband's sister and the man she...how had Della put it...worked and played with. And Henny had first-hand knowledge of the games they played thanks to the vision of lady-like Della naked and straddling Perry's hips forever burned into her brain. She'd never known one without the other – and never known two people more in need of the other to be complete and happy._

" _I don't know. He says he can forgive me, but..."_

 _Henny could only nod with uninformed empathy as Della's words trailed into silence. She would probably never know exactly had happened between Perry and Della because neither of them spoke directly about their unique relationship, but what she did know was that Della had never been hurt by a man as badly as Perry Mason had hurt her. She placed a comforting hand on Della's. "You know you can stay here as long as you need to. The kids love it when their favorite aunt visits."_

" _I'm their_ _ **only**_ _aunt," she pointed out._

" _Even if you weren't, they would still love you best," Henny assured her. "Della, if you don't want Perry here, Carter will get rid of him."_

 _She nearly laughed aloud at Henny's well-intentioned words. There was no way anyone made Perry Mason do anything he didn't want to do, but she was thankful for her sister-in-law's support. Carter could tell him to leave, even threaten to call the police, but Perry would leave only when he wanted to. And right now he did not want to._

 _She turned to look at the men, seated on couches positioned perpendicular to a massive stone fireplace in the living room, far enough away so nothing the women said could be heard if they spoke quietly. The men were silent, staring at flickering flames, drinking coffee laced with whiskey. She sighed deeply. "I might have to finally marry him to fix this. If it can be fixed at all."_

 _Henny's pale blue eyes nearly popped out of her head. "What?"_

" _Shhh! They heard you." She could tell Perry was trying to hear what they said while acting like he wasn't trying to hear what they said._

" _But I don't understand, Della. You showed up here this morning utterly devastated by what he'd done and now you're talking about marrying him?"_

" _He only did what he did because I did what I did." Wow. That was pithy and articulate. Nevertheless, what he did had hurt her to the core. But what she did had hurt him first. And she was right back to that circular explanation. "If he can forgive me, then I need to..."_

" _Make a grand gesture that's against everything you know about your relationship?" Henny finished the sentence._

 _She blinked, shocked at Henny's accurate assessment. "Okay," she said shakily, "maybe I need to explain a few things."_

 _Henny sat back against the chair. "About damn time."_

 _She hesitated. How much was she willing to impart to her brother's wife, who would tell her husband everything? "Perry makes promises. And keeps them. If he thinks he didn't keep a promise for a client, he's unbearable until he ultimately finds a way to keep the promise."_

" _Go on," Henny prodded._

" _He's made many promises to me, but there was only one promise I actually asked him to make."_

" _And he broke that promise." Henny had read enough romance novels to figure out what that promise might have been._

" _Yes," she admitted miserably. "I said the most stupid, awful things to him. He had no choice but to break his promise."_

" _Della," Henny said softly, "he had a choice."_

 _She shook her head almost violently, curls tousled by the wind earlier now even more untamed. "No, he didn't. I didn't m-mean what I said, but he didn't know I didn't mean it...and so when he broke that one important promise he really didn't know he was breaking it...I n-need t-to...look at him! He's miserable." She sniffed and gestured behind her toward the living room, bound and determined not to cry._

" _Oh, sweetie you two are pitiful, just pitiful." Seeing her strong, articulate, beautiful sister-in-law devolve into a heap of blathering nonsense excusing her lover's infidelity – she figured it had to be that given Della's raw pain and Perry's contrite silence – upset Henny as much as if one of her children were unhappy. "Do you want advice or just someone to listen?"_

 _She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Both, please."_

" _Stop blaming yourself, Della. Get mad at him."_

" _I am mad at him."_

" _No, you're hurt and blaming yourself for what he did. You need to get good and mad and let him know it". Henny's short, blunt fingers closed around Della's long, slender fingers. "Do you want to end your relationship with him?"_

" _No," she replied, and the quickness of that answer startled her. "But I always said I would if he ever...did anything like this."_

" _Do you want to forgive him? Can you forgive him?"_

 _She hesitated before answering Henny's questions, considering what exactly she was feeling. "Yes. It hurts knowing what he did, but it hurts worse to think of being without him."_

" _Then sweetie, you have to get mad. You have deal with what he did without blaming yourself and give it time to see if you can forgive him."_

" _Yes," she whispered in complete agony. It had been so much easier when she blamed herself._

 _Henny glanced up and nodded and Perry was there before Della could push the chair away from the table, lifting her to his broad chest and holding her against his rapidly beating heart._


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: References to all of my previous stories will be referenced heavily throughout this story. If anyone wants clarification, I'll reply to questions in reviews or private messages._

 _Big Fan: In regard to 'naked' Della – that particular reference can be found in TCOT Pretty Stones_ , chapter 25.

 _I wanted to address the out-of-place letter 'e' during Perry's joke about the V flight formation of geese in chapter 1 – something my father told me when I was a child and remains my absolute favorite joke in the world to this day. One of my cats, Penny Blossom, stepped on the keyboard and I left it in as her contribution to the story. All sixteen pounds of her is stretched in front of my monitor right now, and has been for every typed word._

 _I'm handing out Brownie points for knowing who I named my cat after, as well as from where I borrowed Perry's vodka-loving housekeeper, Alma._

 _Enjoy!_

 _~ OED_

CHAPTER 3

"It's hard to believe I've known Kaitlynn since she was born, and now she's getting married."

Della tucked her hand in the crook of Perry's elbow and sighed softly. "The years do go by quickly."

He smiled down at her. "Too quickly, if you ask me. Twenty-five years."

That irritated her, despite the soothing string music surrounding them. Couldn't he tell she was talking about the thirty-seven years they'd spent together? She was well aware of how long ago he'd met Max and Laura Parrish...and where. He didn't have to remind her. She wasn't senile. She simply chose not to involve herself in his friendship with the Parrish family, rarely asking questions about when he talked to or saw them. He adored Kaitlynn and was proud of her success even if he didn't like the type of music she performed, proud to be her 'uncle'. Della regretted that her nieces had never called him uncle, which was no doubt an edict from her brother before Henny finally managed to extricate the stick lodged up his ass since birth.

"How did you meet Max and Laura? They weren't students at the time you lectured, were they?" Maybe it was time to learn more about Kaitlynn Parrish and her parents. Or more accurately, Kaitlynn Parrish's parents and Kaitlynn herself.

Perry shook his head slightly surprised that she was questioning him about that time. "No, they weren't. I met Laura on an adjunct student advisory board at Georgetown. We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. I told you they were going through a very bad time and Laura had filed for divorce."

Yes, he had told her about the divorce filing – multiple filings according to Perry – but not that he was friends with Laura first. Somehow that mattered. She thought of Laura Parrish as an educated woman, because Perry enjoyed smart women; but not as a working woman. Now she was curious about whether Laura still worked and what she did. But not curious enough to ask Perry. "And Kaitlynn brought them back together?"

Perry shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with her questions and where they could lead. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to invite Della to Kaitlynn's wedding and introduce her to Laura after all, but at this time in his life, when society was more accepting of unwedded bliss, he didn't like not being with her. They still technically lived in separate residences, and when traveling continued to rent hotel suites with multiple bedrooms, but rarely spent a night in separate beds. His girl had lost none of her independence in thirty-seven years and he'd learned the hard way to pick his battles judiciously. He had seriously considered not attending the wedding at all if she didn't agree to accompany him. "You could say that. It was rough, but they weathered it, and now they are one of the happiest couples I know." That sounded awkward and forced, which it was, and he knew she would see right through it.

"Especially today, huh?" There was a lot about the mother-of-the-bride he wouldn't or couldn't tell her even if she were to ask, awkward platitudes about the status of the Parrish marriage aside. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs deliberately, and Perry's eyes dropped predictably and immediately to take in the sight.

"Especially today," he agreed, lifting his heated gaze to hers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _They drove directly from the airport to his apartment, which he didn't think was a good idea_ _ **at all**_ _, but she insisted._

 _Once inside, she made a bee-line for the bedroom and by the time he caught up with her, she had already stripped the bed. Sheets, bedspread, blanket, and pillows were piled in the middle of the room. Nothing like taking a little hostility out on inanimate objects to cleanse the soul._

" _Della," he said gently, "Alma already remade the bed." For an extra twenty-five dollars and a bottle of Smirnoff, his long-time cleaning lady had agreed to come in the day before to pick up the mess his hurried departure left behind. Bless her vodka infused heart._

 _She snapped her fingers, barged into the bathroom, and soon the contents of his linen closet were flying through the air. She emerged from the bathroom and stood with hands on hips surveying the enormous pile of linens for several seconds before returning to the bathroom and reappearing with his silk bathrobe, which she added to the pile. She kicked off her shoes and went to work throwing towels and pillows onto the bedspread, and dragging the entire load through the living room, out the apartment, and down the hallway to the incinerator chute, into which she methodically fed all of his linens, beginning with his beautiful silk bathrobe that had set her back sixty-four dollars._

 _He stood by helplessly, knowing better than to say or do anything. Damn. He would really miss that robe. Eventually he wandered back to his apartment, satisfied she thought he had witnessed enough of his punishment._

 _After the last towel and then the bedspread was pushed into the chute, she returned to Perry's apartment to find him seated on the couch, a fresh cocktail in hand. Her eyes slid from side to side of the long couch and one eyebrow inched upward. He shook his head. Her eyes then shifted to the kitchen door, the raised fireplace hearth, to the two spacious side chairs. He continued to shake his head. "Only the bed," he finally said with emphasis, "and only once."_

 _She plopped down on the couch next to him, comforted not one bit by that admission, and took the drink from his hand. She didn't really want to know, but she also didn't want to sit on a couch that he and another woman...she shuddered. "A new mattress will be delivered Monday," she announced._

" _All right." What she had just done gave him hope that eventually she could forgive him. "But I have no sheets. Or towels."_

 _She tipped her head back and drained the drink. "You can buy more. And you can shower at your club and do without a robe until you buy another one."_

" _All right."_

 _She handed him the empty highball glass. "More please."_

 _Perry picked up a bottle from the coffee table and poured two fingers of Scotch into the glass._

" _I don't want to know who she was." The excellent scotch was loosening her up so she could say what had to be said. "This hurts so much, Perry."_

 _His hand was unsteady as he handed her the re-filled glass. He was so close to losing her, despite the fact she had rid his apartment of everything the other woman might have touched. "I know. I'm sorry. I will never mention her or what happened unless you ask."_

 _She snorted a laugh. The alcohol was working fast, probably because she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. "_ _ **That's**_ _not going to happen." She drained the second cocktail and regarded the empty glass with a forlorn expression._

" _Am I driving you home, or am I pouring you into a cab?"_

 _She was thoughtful for a moment, eyes shifting once more around his spotless apartment. "Pouring me into a cab. I can't stay here. I can't be with you right now. I thought I c-could, but I c-can't."_

 _She suddenly burst into tears, which scared the bejeebers out of him because she had been so stoic and hadn't really cried, just sniffled for a few minutes at Henny's and Carter's and teared up a couple of times on the plane. He pulled her close, rocking and shushing her. Of all the idiotic things he had done in his life, this was the award-winner. In a weak defense, she'd told him, "I'm done. I can't be your afterthought anymore," effectively tearing out his heart. He should have ignored her pleas to leave her alone and followed her to the lake house that night. Instead, he'd wallowed in agony for days, completely numb, bourbon a constant companion. When his good friend's wife inexplicably landed on his doorstep five days later he'd slept with her, falling prey to her manipulative sympathy and his own unrelenting heartache, fully aware of how wrong it was but wanting to feel something,_ _ **anything**_ _. The entire surreal encounter brought with it self-loathing, disgust, and pain so deep afterward he could barely breathe. And then he'd opened the door and found his truest, deepest love standing there._

" _Is there...can we...?"_

" _I don't know," she sobbed, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. "I thought if I got rid of...but it only hurts more. I smell her everywhere."_

 _He clutched her to him almost roughly, perhaps trying to squeeze the pain from her body like a wet sponge. "I love you. I was weak and stupid and I'm so, so sorry."_

 _She shook her head, squirming in his arms, alternately sobbing and hiccupping. "You promised you would never...but you thought I didn't...and you – you...let me go, Perry. I have to get out of here." She broke free from his embrace but stayed seated on the couch, weeping into her hands._

 _He suspected she would eventually break down, just not within ten minutes of clearing his apartment of all its linens and admitting to experiencing olfactory hallucinations. "I don't know what to do, Della, I don't know how to help you..."_

" _Don't do anything! Don't help me! You've done enough already." She lifted her head and ran her hand under her nose. He offered his sleeve, but received only a scathing stare of rebuff. "I told you I would walk away and never look back if you ever did something like this and now that you've...done it...dammit, I don't know if I can walk away."_

" _I'm glad you don't want to walk away. I don't want you to, either."_

" _I promised myself I would be strong and independent and now I feel as if I'm betraying myself and all I've believed since Michael did the same thing to me."_

 _He didn't appreciate being lumped into the same category as her ex-boyfriend Michael Domenico, who years ago had carried on an illicit affair with Della's best friend for several months; but he could see where in her eyes they were the same. And he definitely understood making promises. Shit, damn, hell. He'd promised Michael Domenico he wouldn't be a fool like him._

 _Except she didn't want to walk away from him the way she'd walked away from Michael Domenico. He had that to cling to._

" _What if I forgive you for this, and you do it again because you know I'll look the other way?"_

" _Are you looking the other way?"_

" _Hell no!" she exploded, furious at his questions. "I don't know what I'm doing." She jumped to her feet. "I have to get out of here."_

 _She headed for the door and was reaching for the knob before he caught up with her. She turned abruptly and he wrapped his arms around her to keep them both from falling._

" _Why did you do this to us?" Arms dangling limply at her sides, her voice a quivering whisper of anguish, she felt as though she might melt into a puddle then and there._

 _He could resort to the blame game and point out what she had said to him over the phone and the fact she'd run away – again – to hide from what was hurting her instead of talking to him, but he was too old for such playground tactics. And besides, when it was all said and done, he finally saw it was his insensitive behavior that had caused everything to spiral out of control in the first place, and why he would just let her say and do whatever she felt necessary in order to eventually forgive him. "There was no reason," he replied quietly into her soft, dark curls. "There was stupidity. That's all."_

" _Stay here. I'll get my own cab."_

 _Protesting would have done exactly no good. "I'll stay here."_

 _She backed away from him, lifting sad, empty eyes to meet his. "I am really mad at you." Henny was right. That felt good. She_ _ **was**_ _mad at him – had been mad at him for months._

" _I'm mad at myself, too."_

" _Don't take this away from me, Perry. I don't want to share my anger with anyone, not even you." She turned away and opened the door._

" _When will I see you again?"_

 _Half-in and half-out of the door, she paused, her back to him. "Why, I'll see you Monday morning in the office. I'm mad at my lover, not at my boss."_


	4. Chapter 4

_NOTE: Come all ye young fellows that follow the sea, weigh hey blow the man down! Penny Blossom is indeed named after Penny on The Big Bang Theory._

 _I'm surprised and pleased how many people knew who Alma was. It's nice to see that one of the greatest comic performances in the history of movies by the sublime Thelma Ritter hasn't been forgotten. I giggle every time I remember a hung over Alma bracing herself for the elevator ride up to Doris Day's apartment._

 _Here's Chapter 4, just a bit of fluff guest-starring a character from an old story. This movie is proving more difficult to make sense of because there is just so much large and small I take exception to, beginning with the not-so-thinly veiled hints that Perry fathered Kaitlynn Parrish._

 _~ OED_

CHAPTER 4

Della knew what Kaitlynn Parrish looked like – how could she not? The pop star was routinely featured in magazines and on MTV. Yes, she watched MTV. Mostly so that she could talk intelligently with youngsters nowadays, but partly because she was curious about Kaitlynn Parrish. Just not curious enough to ask Perry.

As Kaitlynn walked down the aisle on her father's arm in an um, interesting, off-the-shoulder taffeta gown with a slit running the entire front of the big skirt revealing a knee-length lace dress beneath, Della sensed emotion welling up in Perry. Even though Kaitlynn was not his daughter, the fact that she could have been had stayed with him for twenty-five years. The loss of their daughter twenty-seven years ago had to be uppermost in his mind today, as it was in Della's. However, she was more adept at compartmentalizing those memories than he was. The most stunning thing their years together had shown her was how very sentimental big, tough, Perry Mason could be and she should have appreciated it more.

A beaming father-of-the-bride handed his treasured daughter off to an obviously overwhelmed and excited bridegroom, and as the minister launched into his ceremonial prattle, Della's eyes grew misty. Pragmatist that she was, she couldn't help lamenting that sometimes life wasn't fair.

On cue when the minister asked if there was anyone who could show just cause why the two young people before him should not be joined together in holy matrimony, a commotion at the back of the room interrupted the ceremony. An obviously drunk man staggered down the aisle holding a thick brown document folder.

"Don't even invite me to my own nephew's wedding, huh, Parrish? My own brother's son! S'matter Max – you forget to invite me?"

Max Parrish stood and moved to the aisle to prevent the intruder from advancing further. "No, I didn't forget. "

The inebriated man tried to push past Max Parrish. "Your new father-in-law thinks he's better than me, Gary-boy."

Max shoved the man, who staggered back a couple of steps. "Lon, for God's sake! It's Kay's wedding."

The man called Lon leaned unsteadily toward Max Parrish. "Well, you're not better than me," he said, waving the legal document folder underneath his nose, "and this'll show you. This'll show just the kinda man you are!"

Max Parrish shoved the man away once more and gestured toward the back of the room. "I'm getting security."

Two security guards dressed in cheap suits advanced down the aisle and the man named Lon whirled on them. One guard lifted his arm to throw a punch, pausing momentarily before delivering a knock-out blow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Balancing three sets of fluffy towels in varying shades of brown, she maneuvered around displays of beautiful, colorful towels toward the sales counter where two sets of beige sheets and a beige and brown bedspread were set aside, wondering how dirt brown could be anyone's favorite color. But it was Perry's, and the least she could do was chose what he liked after burning everything he owned – a justifiable reaction for which she was mortified – and then charging all new linens and a king-size mattress to his credit card. His robe she replaced with her own money, because really, she had played a supporting part in everything that happened. And he deserved something for showering at his men's club for three weeks without a single complaint._

 _Lost in thought, she didn't see the tall slender man ahead of her until she had run smack into him. Reeling backward, she slipped, banged into a display table of red towels, and landed in a heap beneath what looked like a mixture of mud and blood, head spinning._

" _Miss, are you all right?"_

 _She shook her head to clear fuzzy vision. "I'm fine. Nothing bruised but my pride." What a silly thing to do._

" _My God – Della?"_

 _She squinted up at the man who held one hand outstretched to help her up. "Rodger?"_

 _The man laughed. "I'm flattered you recognize me. Up you go!" He easily lifted her to her feet and she was standing face-to-face with Rodger Eastlund, the last man she had dated before realizing that for her no man had ever and could never measure up to Perry Mason._

" _Of course I recognize you! I can't believe after all these years I literally bumped into you." His blonde hair was shot through with grey and his forehead was creased in a permanent look of worry, but it was definitely Rodger._

 _Rodger smiled wearily, and she noticed that his once broad shoulders were sloped, the epitome of someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You look beautiful, Della. You were always a pretty girl, but you've grown into a beautiful woman."_

 _Yes, Rodger would mention her looks right out of the gate. He would have married her because she was pretty at twenty-two, as the wife he divorced had once also been pretty at twenty-two. "Thank you. Every woman loves a compliment. What are you doing here? Men don't usually hang around the linen department of a department store."_

 _He smiled wearily once again. "I'm actually here registering for wedding gifts with my_ _fiancée_ _. She went somewhere with a salesclerk and told me to stay put, which is why I was standing in the middle of the aisle for you to so rudely barge into."_

 _She wanted to ask what number marriage this was, even though she knew it was his fourth, and bit her sassy tongue. "Congratulations. When is the wedding?"_

" _In six weeks. Georgia is in a panic because we should have registered two weeks ago, but I've been out of town and she wants me to like what she picks out. So here I am tasked with deciding between Egyptian and Pima cotton bath towels. Would you care to chime in on your preference? What are you buying?"_

 _She laughed. She had enjoyed dating Rodger. He was amusing and definitely satisfied her rebellious need for physical gratification at the time. Too bad he couldn't tell her what it was he loved about her aside from being pretty when he proposed out of the blue, and she broke his shallow heart. "Egyptian," she replied, "with the highest fabric weight possible."_

" _Is that what Mr. Mason likes, or what you tell him he likes?"_

" _He knows what he likes." Interesting that Rodger knew she still worked for Perry and had jumped to the conclusion that the load of brown towels was for him. Of course, anyone who read the newspaper or scanned the news and tabloids knew she was Perry's secretary as well as his constant companion, and Rodger was a voracious news hound._

 _Rodger smiled again, less wearily. "There's that spunky girl. Egyptian it is."_

" _I can't believe a salesclerk hasn't come around to help. I feel guilty leaving such a mess, but I have to be somewhere in a few minutes."_

" _I'll help you with your towels and when Georgia comes back to fetch me I'll tell the salesclerk about the mysterious whirling dervish that appeared out of nowhere and knocked over all the red towels and just as quickly disappeared."_

 _She laughed again and held out her arms. "Don't bother folding, just toss them over my arms."_

 _Rodger did as she said, and when she was draped in earthy Egyptian cotton, he stood back and regarded her with a wistful expression. "You know, you were wrong. Some women can look like they're twenty-two forever. That's how you'll always look to me."_

" _Rodger, I don't think – "_

 _He held up his hand to silence her. "I've learned my lesson, Della. This will be my fourth and last marriage. I work seventy hours a week to pay alimony to ex-wives who don't like me, have two grandchildren that are older than my youngest son, and never see any of my kids. I'm forty-five years old and Georgia is forty-six. We'll still be married when we're ninety because she will look forty-six to me forever."_

 _She looked at him with misty eyes, deeply touched. "I'm glad you finally found what you were looking for, Rodger."_

" _And I'm glad you turned me down, Della. You made the right choice with your Mr. Mason."_

 _She hoped he didn't notice how unsteady her gait was as she walked away. Had she made the right choice?_

 _The answer was relatively simple despite all the complications that choice had brought to her life._

 _Without a doubt._


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: It's been asked if it will ever be mentioned what made Della mad in the first place, and while I've dropped hints in this and other stories about what set off the events in the flashback portion of this story, I haven't decided yet when or where to directly address what happened. Not much of an answer, but this story is on angst overload and the characters need a break._

 _I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that I write primarily book Perry and Della, and enjoy occasionally dropping the characters into TV episodes/movies begging for back stories and repair. In the books Della was obviously considerably younger than Perry, and I've settled on an eleven-year age gap, which I think makes character development more interesting._

 _Future chapters should be longer as we get into more parts that didn't make sense or were just downright silly - hello, Gary Hawkes pretending to be a private detective..._

 _~ OED_

CHAPTER 5

Perry and Della moved along the outer walls admiring an impressive collection of Western art that Della thought were beautiful but incongruous displayed in such a formal house, trying to stay out of the way as Max Parrish and his security detail dragged the unconscious Alonzo 'Lon' Hawkes into Max's study and locked both doors. A security guard was then assigned to watch each door, and an announcement made that the wedding would resume in twenty to thirty minutes.

Della also watched Kaitlynn Parrish move through the crowd of inquisitive, talkative guests in a short lace wedding dress with a sweetheart neckline after shedding the voluminous taffeta overskirt, still wearing full-length satin gloves that could have been fitted better, which was a shame because the fitted under dress was actually quite becoming.

The young bride hugged her distraught mother, spoke a few words to her father, and moved away out of sight. Della's fingers tightened on Perry's arm. He looked down at her with a smile, knowing how the turn of events upset her. Having dealt with criminal law for so many years, she liked happy endings. He fingered the large emerald on her left hand. "Let's find an out-of-the-way corner and neck."

Della snickered while he guided her toward the mansion's dining room that had been converted into a 'gift room', the long table draped with white linen and laden with elaborately wrapped boxes of all sizes and shapes. They hadn't taken but a few steps when a teenage girl with short dark hair and wearing shorts with over-the-knee socks bumped into Perry as she backed away from the entrance to the gift room.

"Well, well," Perry boomed, "who are you?"

The girl, brown eyes big with panic, jerked her arm from the attorney's grasp and darted out a side door.

Perry glanced at Della. "Kids these days. Somehow I get the impression she wasn't an invited guest."

"How did she get in if she wasn't invited? We went through no less than three security checks on the way in, and I've counted five security men inside the house." If a teenage girl could manage to avoid the security precautions, what good were they? Della empathized with Kaitlynn Parrish, living her private life in public. Her own private life had become public when she was approximately the young bride's age, the day she accepted Perry Mason's offer of employment. It was worse for Kaitlynn, whose interrupted nuptials would be the lead story on news broadcasts and entertainment shows around the world, whereas the intrusion into her own personal life had been limited to newspapers and tabloid magazines with a more limited audience.

Perry was thinking along the same lines as Della, but his thoughts were interrupted when the best man, Sam Wald, right hand wrapped in a thick bandage of white gauze, breezed past them into the dining room.

"Well, there goes the last private spot on this floor of the house," Della lamented.

"I think where we are is about the most private place we'll find right now." He drew her to him and nuzzled the curls at her temple. "You smell divine."

"I'm wearing the same perfume I've always worn."

"And I've always thought you smelled divine." He dipped his head and placed thrilling kisses up and down her slender neck.

"Really, Mr. Mason, is this proper behavior at a wedding?" Her words may have been mildly protesting, but her body belied that protest by melting against him and tilting her head to allow better access to her neck.

"Isn't a wedding where love is in the air the perfect place to show affection?"

She laughed, regaining some sensibility, and placed her hand caressingly along his jawline. "I can't argue with that, Counselor."

Perry removed her hand from his face and laced his fingers with hers, but before he could say anything, Sam Wald emerged from the dining room and walked quickly past them. "The coast is clear. What do you say about repairing to the dining room and discussing the 'nap' we took this afternoon?" His head dipped once more to taste her neck.

"We missed our opportunity," Della told him, lifting his head again. "Hannah Hawkes just went in. And here comes Max Parrish. I'm beginning to think we're invisible. A parade of people walked by us without a howdy-do."

Perry leaned forward and kissed her delicious lips. "I told you no one would see us here."

She placed her palm flat against his chest this time to - what did the kids say - cool his jets. "Don't get carried away, lover boy, we're on the return parade route as well." She watched while first Hannah Hawkes, then Max Parrish exited the dining room. "I must say, Mr. Mason, I'm pleased you've managed to stay out of the kerfuffle today."

"Kerfuffles don't interest me, my dear. Murder is my specialty."

"Speaking of murder...did you hear Kaitlynn say she could kill Gary's uncle as they dragged him away?" She wasn't going to bring it up, but well, murder _**was**_ his specialty.

Perry frowned. "I did. Kaitlynn can be overly dramatic." _Just like her mother_. Jaded as he was by his profession and knowing Laura Parrish, he didn't want to think Kaitlynn's words were anything but emotional. Hell, her wedding had just been interrupted!

"Uh oh, here comes another parade."

Perry turned and followed her gaze to where Max Parrish and two security men were bearing down on the dining room. Inexplicably sensing something bad was about to happen he nudged Della closer to the wall. "Stay here, Della."

When Perry Mason entered the study on the heels of the security men, Kaitlynn Parrish was standing over the lifeless form of Lon Hawkes, face pale and frightened. "I wanted to talk to him," she said in a quavering voice, reaching toward her father and putting bloodied satin gloves holding an equally bloody knife on full display.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" _Alone at last," he quipped, loudly snapping his briefcase shut._

 _She shoved the last notebook into her briefcase and latched it with less noise. "That was a whirlwind. When did you begin to suspect the tax accountant?"_

 _He flashed a dimpled grin_. " _When I called him to the stand."_

 _She shook her head in proud, but confounded, admiration. "You are either the most brilliant attorney in the world or incredibly lucky."_

 _Within moments of crossing the threshold to his private office five weeks ago he was Perry Mason again – demanding, brilliant, blustery, clever, humorous, annoying; everything her boss had always been. She knew going back to work would be good for her – for them – and it was, especially when not one, but two, murder cases dropped in their laps within a few days of each other._

 _But he still smelled different, enveloped in an unidentifiable perfume she'd smelled in his apartment, and when he attempted tentative caresses she involuntarily recoiled. Knowing his masculine mind found it difficult to process the power of an imaginary scent she was incredibly grateful he wasn't making a big deal out of it. Patience was not one of his virtues, except when it came to her, and she hated – yes, hated – testing it._

 _He took her hand and raised it to his lips, taking a chance that she might allow a bit of affection from him since the courtroom was empty. "I'm incredibly lucky."_

" _Well played, Chief," she said quietly, knees weak, willing every cell in her body not to stiffen or flinch at his touch._

" _Well played enough to take you out for a steak dinner, dancing, and a nightcap at my apartment?" His eyes darkened as he leaned toward her, still holding her hand, encouraged by the fact that although her hand was trembling, she hadn't jerked it from his grasp._

 _She felt her cheeks grow warm with the effort not to inhale while he was so close. They had spent nearly every waking hour together during this case, just not as together as either of them would like to be, and it had still been wonderful. During the day they paced each other side-by-side, their common goal a good defense for clients. At night they dined at their favorite restaurants, attended legal social functions together, took in the occasional movie or concert, and then went home to separate apartments. She hoped he didn't feel he was being punished, because that was not her intent. She was still mad at him – at her lover – and he knew it because he asked every morning. Maybe still being mad at him fueled her aversion to his touch. Maybe she needed to finally exhale and not worry so much about inhaling._

 _Standing in front of him now, pleased with his triumph, his fingers gently caressing hers, she let out what little breath was left in her lungs. And inhaled tentatively. The scent of infidelity, pride, and embarrassment that had wafted between them for so many weeks was definitely less detectable. "Yes."_

 _Their briefcases hit the floor simultaneously as he gathered her into his arms. "Are you sure?"_

 _She wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent – blessedly mostly his. "I'm sure. I miss you."_

" _Are you really sure?"_

 _She chuckled softly. "I'm really sure."_

 _His hands framed her face, her beautiful, beautiful face. "I love you."_

" _Prove it," she whispered shakily._

" _Oh, my love, I'm going to," he assured her, "from now until the end of my life."_

" _I, um, don't know...that is, tonight won't be..." she stopped talking as another warm blush crept across her face. "No grand gestures, Perry, please. This is difficult for me. Work isn't enough anymore and I'd like to try being Perry and Della when we're not being Mr. Mason and Miss Street. I need to figure out if what we were was real and if it's possible to be that way again."_

 _Work hadn't been enough for him since the moment he'd met her, his feelings immediately the most real and genuine he'd ever experienced; the heaven on earth he'd always considered mythic. His hell was one he'd created; of being so close to her, of loving her, needing her, desperate to forgive and be forgiven; aware of how careless he had been with the emotions she had entrusted him. He'd watched her wrestle all these weeks to reconcile her convictions about what he'd done with her feelings for him and had never been more humbled to know she was willing to give them another chance._

 _His thumbs moved slowly across magnificently sculpted cheekbones. "We were real, baby." He bent and brushed gentle lips over first one heated cheek, then the other. "Everything was real, and anything is possible."_


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Dave Tynen, one of the security guards, upon seeing Kaitlynn Parrish standing over an obviously dead Lon Hawkes, quickly ordered the study doors closed and called the police. Thirty-five minutes later Lt. Ed Brock of homicide blustered into the room and demanded statements from all present. Fifteen minutes after Lt. Brock's arrival the coroner declared Lon Hawkes officially deceased, most likely by a knife wound inflicted by a left-handed person, and the lieutenant turned with purpose toward Kaitlynn Parrish, a piece of paper in his hand.

"Do you recognize this document, Miss Parrish?"

Kaitlynn took the paper from him with her left hand, a confused look on her face. "W-what is this?"

"I'd like the coroner to note that Kaitlynn Parrish is left-handed." Brock announced loudly, motioning toward an officer standing at the perimeter of the room. "Kaitlynn Parrish, I am arresting you for the murder of Alonzo Hawkes."

Kaitlynn burst into tears and held her arms out once again to Max Parrish but was restrained by a uniformed officer. "Daddy..."

Max Parrish, white with fright, turned to Perry Mason. "What's going to happen to Kay, Perry?"

"That depends on Lt. Brock," Perry replied grimly. He didn't like Lt. Ed Brock. Not the way he didn't like but respected one of his predecessors, Lt. Arthur Tragg in the performance of his job, but dislike based on the fact Brock was a goon, an officer impressed with his rank and authority who wielded his power detestably, and who had once arrested Della, handcuffed her, and put her in a holding cell. Subsequent dealings with Lt. Brock had done nothing to change his opinion of him as a police officer or a human being.

Perry stepped between the distraught bride and her father. "Kaitlynn, tell the police that under advice of counsel you've been instructed not to answer any questions." He turned toward the coroner, who was still kneeling next to the body of Lon Hawkes, writing notes. "Doctor," he barked, "you're sure the autopsy will confirm the wound was inflicted by a left-handed person?" He knew Kaitlynn to be left-handed, as was Max Parrish, and that he could easily deflect the stunt pulled by Lt. Brock under cross-examination.

The doctor rose to his feet and dusted the knees of his pants, plainly perturbed by what he perceived as disrespect from Lt. Brock and to a lesser degree from the famed criminal attorney. "No question."

"Thank you, doctor," Lt. Brock interjected. "Mr. Mason, you saw for yourself your client is left-handed."

"I saw her take a piece of paper proffered to her left hand," Perry admitted freely. "If that's all you've got, Lieutenant, I will have Miss Parrish out on bail before you've typed up the arrest report."

"Let's see what I got," Lt. Brock shot back at Perry Mason, his mutual dislike for the famed attorney palpable to anyone within ten feet of the two men. "I got a room here, sir, with bars on the window. I got a victim left in here unconscious but alive. I got two doors – one locked; the other under constant surveillance by the security men outside. And I have a suspect, sir, Kaitlynn Parrish, who made threatening remarks against the victim and was then found standing over the body of the victim – one Alonzo Hawkes And that's what I got, Mr. Mason, that – "

Perry Mason dispatched Lt. Brock's sarcastic tirade with an impatient wave of his hand, strode to one of the study doors, reached around and held up a key. "The key was in the lock on the dining room side. Anyone could have entered the study from that room. My associate and I personally saw several people come in and out of the dining room before Hawkes was found dead."

"Yes, Mr. Mason," Lt. Brock agreed with gleeful condescension, "but your client was the only one found standing over the dead person with the murder weapon at her feet and blood on her hands."

"Why would she kill him? What possible motive would she have had?" It had always irked him how homicide detectives could make arrests without knowing salient facts surrounding the crime. Brock was merely bombastic, possessing none of the inherent smarts of Arthur Tragg, and Perry sorely missed matching wits with his old friend at this moment.

"Mr. Mason, sir, I'm working on that. I'm working on that. Now, would you like to talk to your client before I take her downtown, sir?"

"Thank you, I will." And slammed the door behind him, which was better than punching the supercilious Lt. Brock right in the kisser if he called him 'sir' one more damn time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" _I'm pregnant."_

 _The call he'd answered with much anticipation was supposed to be Della, a sexy goodnight from out of town, not a surprise announcement from Laura Parrish, whom he had ignored since...that night. He replied with the first words that came to him. "Congratulations! Max must be very happy."_

" _Max doesn't know. The first person to be told should always be the father." She paused for effect before dropping her bomb. "That's why I called you."_

 _He groaned inwardly and raked his hand through his hair. What a colossally stupid man he was to have put himself in a situation like this. "You dialed the wrong number."_

 _She made a noise; half sigh, half irritated mutter. "The doctor says I'm seven weeks pregnant. Seven weeks ago..."_

" _I know what happened seven weeks ago." That particular nightmare replayed on an endless loop in his mind with no escape in work or sleep. "Either the doctor is wrong about the timing, or you and Max..."_

" _We didn't! Not for weeks before and after..." she suddenly broke down in piteous weeping. "What am I going to do? Max will know it's not his."_

" _I don't know what to tell you, Laura, aside from it's not mine." Time and distance had lent a perspective to his months in Georgetown he hadn't noticed while there and Laura's proclamation was not what he needed in his life, not when he and Della were so close to intimacy again. He could not have fathered Laura's baby, of that he was certain. "How reliable is this doctor?"_

" _He's the best in Arlington. There is no mistake."_

" _I'm sorry, Laura, there is definitely a mistake. You need to get a second opinion."_

 _The quiet weeping became full-out crying. He was so mean, so calmly cold. "How can you do this to me? I'm not a...I don't sleep around. The only other man I've slept with is you..."_

 _He remained silent._

 _Her sobbing increased in intensity. "Max will know... he'll know...I can't lie to him."_

 _He rubbed his eyes wearily. He should be talking to Della, out of town at her aunt's in Bolero Beach, whispering sweet goodnights, not protesting paternity with another woman. The calls were a favorite part of his day, second only to seeing her smile when he entered his office each morning, and had done more to mend their fragile relationship than either could have anticipated. "I told you it's up to you whether or not to tell Max what happened. I won't tell him, Laura. If there was another..."_

" _No! Only you! Only you and Max. I swear."_

" _Then there isn't a problem," he said gently. How could he have involved himself so intimately with Laura Parrish, his friend's wife; beautiful, intelligent, fascinating, yet neurotic, narcissistic, and adolescently self-centered? How had he allowed confusion to culminate in a betrayal of his most important relationship with a woman who didn't recognize grown-up reality? How could he reason with someone like that?_

" _I hate you."_

" _I'm sorry you feel that way, Laura. I regret what we did, but I don't hate you." Della would be proud of him, but he would never, ever, ever tell her._

" _Oh my God, you're back with_ _ **her**_ _, aren't you?" He'd told her the woman's name, the woman he was involved with, but she refused to say it._

" _We were never apart." Laura didn't need to know he and Della were struggling to rediscover their relationship. She did, however, need to know sleeping with her was stupidest thing he had ever done, and he had done plenty of stupid things in his lifetime._

" _Bastard."_

" _I'm sorry you feel that way, Laura," he repeated calmly. "I made the biggest mistake of my life that night, and I apologize for everything, from inviting you in to unceremoniously kicking you out...and especially for what happened in between."_

" _I told you I was divorcing Max and you said it was over with that other woman." This was not going as well as she had planned._

 _Sadly, she didn't recognize that_ _ **she**_ _was the other woman in this story. He couldn't deny her marriage to Max was consistently rocky, or that he had been attracted to her, or that he had told her it was over with Della after the rockiest time in their relationship. Neither her suspect reasoning nor his witless guilt and grief excused infidelity for either of them. If Laura told Max she was pregnant with the child of their friend, a marriage and a serious ten-year relationship could go kablooey in an instant, and he would do just about anything to see that one of those things didn't happen. "If you tell Max your baby is mine, I personally guarantee you will regret it for the rest of your life."_

" _You are a bastard." Laura said without a trace of her earlier tears and hysteria, hackles up in defense of his veiled threat. "How can you say something like that after what we did..."_

" _I can say something like that because it's true," he interrupted. "Laura, despite everything, I care about you." Inexplicably, he did care. He was not a love 'em and leave 'em kind of man, which was the flaw in his personality that hurt Della one too many times and had led directly to this surreal moment. "We can be friends...you, Max, and me...but if that isn't in the cards, then so be it. You need to make a good decision, Laura. I am not your baby's father."_

" _Bastard," Laura repeated bitterly. "Max will divorce me and I'll be alone, and it will be your fault."_

" _Yes, it's my fault," he agreed, wishing she would just hang up on him. "I love someone else. I've loved her for a long time, and we've been through things I hope other couples never have to go through." He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. "I lost sight of what was most important to me and I'm sorry. That's all I can say." Sorry really was the hardest word to say, and it pained him that she didn't understand a damn thing._

" _And you're okay with another man raising your child," she said, bitterness dripping from every word._

" _If you've only been with me and Max, then your baby is Max's." How many different ways did he have to say it until Laura believed him? He would not tell her why it was impossible. The reason was too personal, too filled with sadness, and he hadn't even told Della._

" _I thought more of you, Perry Mason. I thought you were an honest man who took his responsibilities seriously."_

 _He had always prided himself on being honest, but life had revealed to him that complete honesty had a great capacity to hurt. "I do take my responsibilities seriously. I've loved Della from the moment I met her and she is my uppermost responsibility."_

" _Bastard."_

 _He was weary of her game, weary of being called a bastard by a woman who presented herself as being above a woman who would call a man a bastard - three times. "We made a mistake that night, Laura. You're a married woman and I have Della." He had never told anyone so much about his relationship with Della, and the fact that he cared about Laura Parrish made it all the more confusing and difficult for him. "Tell Max the baby is his, because it is."_

" _I can't tell Max about us."_

" _One fact doesn't necessary make the other fact true_. _I won't tell him. I can't do that to him."_

 _Laura was silent for several seconds. "He would be devastated." She sighed. "But if the baby looks like you..."_

" _It won't," he said firmly. His baby would have looked like her mother, with chestnut hair and perfect cheekbones. His baby's mother dreamed of blue eyes, but he would have been thrilled with mercurial hazel._

" _I don't want to lose you."_

" _The_ _ **three**_ _of us can be friends, Laura, nothing more." As he said the words he knew shouldn't. Then he doubled down on them, because of his deeply ingrained need to clean up messes – especially ones he created. "I'll always be there for you and Max."_

" _Me and Max. That's how you see this, don't you? Me and Max, you and Della..."_

" _That's the way it is."_

 _Laura sighed again. "I never wanted children. The only positive thing in this situation is that I'll have your child to remind me of that night."_

" _Don't say that ever again." Calm escalated to impatience; impatience gave way to frustration; and frustration morphed to outright anger in a few seconds. "I need to hang up. Della will be calling any minute."_

" _I hope she's worth giving up your child for." He was treating her like a child, the way Max did when they argued. She'd underestimated his devotion to...his secretary...and she would give him plenty to think about._

 _He could have cried at the petulant words meant to make him feel guilty. He hadn't given up his child. He had loved his child, prayed for his child, and mourned for his child but he had in no way given up his child. "Good-bye, Laura. Be happy." He dropped the receiver into the cradle._

 _Five seconds later, the phone rang._

" _It's about time you called," he said gruffly, the receiver only half-way to his ear, confident Laura would not have called back._

 _She laughed. "I had to wait for Aunt Mae to fall asleep. She wouldn't approve of what I intend to say to you."_

 _He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows on his bed, her laughter a salve on open wounds. "Sounds interesting, Miss Street."_

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

A hand-cuffed Kaitlynn Parrish paced back and forth in front of Perry Mason. He found it annoying. How had Della watched him pace endlessly with her eyes wide and worried during myriad murder trials?

"Kaitlynn, Hawkes was a violent man. If you caused his death..."

"I didn't do it, Uncle Perry. I didn't do it."

"The blood on your gloves..."

Kaitlynn held out her hands, palms up, the bloodstained wedding gloves having been photographed, removed, secured in evidence bags, and locked in the trunk of a squad car. "He was lying on the sofa. I thought he was asleep, so I tried to wake him but he was dead. Then I saw the knife on the floor and picked it up."

"Why did you want to wake him? Why did you go into the study in the first place?" And why, oh _**why**_ did people pick up murder weapons when they saw one? Fully a third of his cases wouldn't have amounted to anything if clients hadn't picked up a bloody knife, a discharged gun, or a broken statue.

"I was mad. He attacked Dad's reputation. He ruined my wedding. I don't know what I wanted to do. Just tell him off, I guess." She moved toward Perry. "I didn't kill him. You have to believe me."

"Oh Kaitlynn," he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her to his side in a quick hug. "I believe you. But we have a lot of other people to convince."

There was a knock on the door and Lt. Brock poked his head into the room. "Time to go, Miss Parrish. Not many murder suspects would be allowed to talk to their attorneys this way."

"Prick," Perry Mason said under his breath.

"What's that, Mr. Mason?" Lt. Brock looked at the famed attorney sharply.

"Nothing. Just reminding myself about something."

Lt. Brock's eyes glittered with animosity for a moment before he motioned for two officers to take custody of Kaitlynn Parrish. "I hope you'll remember my cooperation once Miss Parrish is booked at headquarters."

"I'll remember a lot of things, Lieutenant."

Lt. Brock popped an arrogant salute and followed his officers from the study, a fuming Perry Mason right behind the procession.

Della stood outside the door of the Parrish mansion watching with concerned sympathy as Kaitlynn Parrish, in her wedding dress and tuxedoed bridegroom at her side, was escorted from the house. Her somber parents trailed behind, their own elegant wedding attire a cruel juxtaposition to a reality she had experienced too many times to count.


	7. Chapter 7

_NOTE: My apologies for the delays between recent postings. I've been camping 'up north' with no electricity and no internet for a couple of weeks._

 _For those of you frustrated by why Perry insists he can't be Kaitlynn's father, the reason he can't be is covered in TCOT Absurd Assumption, chapters 23 and 24._

 _~ OED_

CHAPTER 7

"This isn't a real pass. It's a giveaway." Ken Malansky, freshly shaved and dressed in a sport coat and pleated trousers, turned a concert pass Della had picked up from the foyer floor of the Parrish mansion over in his hands. He hadn't caught a fish in three days, so when Della called to fill him in on what had transpired during the Hawkes-Parrish wedding, he didn't hesitate to abandon his vacation. In all honesty, he was bored, which he would _**not**_ admit to Perry Mason. Maybe to Della, but never to the attorney himself.

"A what?" Perry looked up from the writ of _habeas corpus_ Della placed in front of him.

"A giveaway; a fake pass. Bar clubs hand them out by the hundreds as promotions. Kids put their photos in them and use them like the real thing."

"So there's no way to trace the girl in the photo?" Della leaned a svelte hip against Perry's massive walnut desk, placing a hand flat on the blotter to steady herself. This office, for the second incarnation of his practice following an eight-year detour to the Appellate Court in San Francisco, couldn't be more different from Perry Mason's original office in the Brent Building. Where the latter office had been large and bright with modern Danish-inspired furniture, this office was darker, cozier, and filled with furniture befitting the size and personality of the older attorney. One piece of furniture from the Brent Building office still held a place of honor – the worn leather client chair, positioned squarely in front of Perry Mason's desk as it always had been. Both the attorney and his secretary agreed no office would feel right without it.

"I wouldn't say that," Perry said without looking up from the writ, not having read a single word, his mind working elsewhere. "We know she's a fan of Kaitlynn's. We also know she's five-feet-two, sixteen years old, with short brown hair and brown eyes. And we know she probably saw something."

 _Yes, probably something like us canoodling in the hallway._ "It's a good picture of her," Della offered. The pass could turn out to be a very important piece of evidence in Kaitlynn's defense. Lt. Brock had concentrated his officer's efforts to the dining room and study, virtually ignoring the foyer, and finding it was quite a stroke of luck, and Perry was damned if he'd turn it over before Ken could dig up the girl's identity.

"I'll take it to the club that handed it out. If this girl is a regular, somebody might recognize her."

Perry pushed the writ aside and adjusted his reading glasses. He really didn't need to read the writ because it would be perfect, as always. "Ken, I had the security men make a list of everyone they saw enter the dining room while Lon Hawkes was locked in the study. I'd like them checked out."

"Sam Wald, Hannah Hawkes, Max Parrish," Della ticked off with the fingers of her right hand those she herself had seen enter the dining room, "the two security men..."

"Everyone _**including**_ the two security men, Ken...wait, I'll take Max Parrish." He owed it to his old friend to question him personally.

Della stood straight and shook out her skirt, both men watching her with unabashed admiration. "But first," she stated firmly, "you have to..."

"But first, I have to get Kaitlynn released on bail. I know." Perry picked up the phone while holding Della's grateful gaze, and he realized Kaitlynn Parrish was quickly becoming another of her 'children'. That could either be a blessing or something ultimately very bad.

* * *

Laura Parrish paced nervously away from Della's desk, pivoted gracefully on one heel, and headed back toward where Perry Mason's associate was studying documents about Parrish Talent Promotions issued by the State Artist's Commission. A friendly clerk in the D.A.'s office had passed on information about the investigation and she hadn't had much time to brief Perry before Laura Parrish arrived with her daughter and Gary Hawkes so she was preparing a full report now. The young couple were closed in Perry's office while Laura Parrish had been banished (her word) to Della's office. Della took no offense. It wasn't worth the effort to give weight to such a purposeful slight. She just didn't like the chill Laura Parrish brought to the room.

For the duration of Kaitlynn's case she would be cordial to Laura Parrish, because Perry shouldn't be distracted, and in the past two days had bitten back several snide remarks about the woman who knew Perry in ways he regretted. There was no jealousy – there never had been with any of the women who disturbed their life together – because while he wasn't perfect, she had always known his love for her was true and what he felt for those other women was not much more than an infuriating sense of obligation to take care of those who had touched him. That didn't make things any easier, but it helped temper the green-eyed monster.

"What are they talking about?" Laura Parrish folded elegantly into an upholstered chair, crossed slender ankles and glanced at her expensive watch. Coincidentally, Della owned the very same watch, a recent gift from Perry for no particular reason, and which she was also wearing.

"Kaitlynn's case," Della replied, trying not to sound too churlish.

"I don't understand why I can't be in there with them." She loved her daughter and was more worried than she could ever remember. But she was also tired of having to repeatedly proclaim and display that she loved her daughter, whose childhood had been an exhausting, vexing experience. As a young adult she and Kaitlynn had more in common and it was so much easier to love her.

"You'll be interviewed and shouldn't hear what others involved have to say."

"Interviewed by Perry?" Laura sat forward, pleased by the prospect of being alone with him.

"By Perry or our associate Ken Malansky." Of course Perry would interview her himself, but Della couldn't resist a bit of torture. She pushed away from the computer screen to remove documents emerging from a printer stationed on the credenza behind her desk.

Laura Parrish watched Della efficiently stack the papers neatly and slide them into a manila folder. "Nice watch," she said blandly. "That lovely emerald ring you were wearing at the wedding must look well with the watch. I notice you're not wearing it today."

Della paused in her activities to meet the woman's cool blue gaze. There had to be some ground rules established. "Both the watch and ring were gifts from Perry. I wear them together when appropriate."

"I figured as much. Special occasions?"

"No. Just because." Della knew they were talking about a combination of the watch, the emerald ring, and her daughter's ill-fated wedding.

"You're very self-assured."

"I suppose I am." _Great_. She had fallen into the very pettiness she wanted to avoid.

Laura Parrish waved her left hand dismissively. Della noticed that her manicure was again perfect and a different color than two days ago. She also noticed the gigantic diamond wedding ring, but it was the fresh manicure that really interested her. What kind of mother gets a manicure when her daughter is in jail accused of murder? "Self-assured, holier-than-thou, whatever. You won."

"I wasn't aware there was a contest." _Get the train back on the track, Della._

"Oh, there was a contest. A very high stakes contest with a remarkable prize that you won rather easily."

 _On the contrary, Mrs. Parrish, it hadn't been easy at all_. Della said nothing, the train leaning precariously around a sharp curve.

"You're as tight-lipped as Perry, aren't you?"

"There isn't anything to say. People aren't prizes."

"You do know..."

"Yes, I know. I also know we shouldn't be talking about it."

"Aren't you..."

"No," Della interrupted.

"But..."

"Mrs. Parrish, our concern has to be for Kaitlynn above all else. Perry needs to concentrate on her predicament, not on what happened twenty-five years ago." The train settled firmly on the tracks again.

Laura Parrish sat back against the chair, dismayed at being figuratively spanked by Perry's secretary. Of course her concern was for Kaitlynn; poor, innocent Kaitlynn who had no idea the man she called uncle could very well be her father. She was walking a fine line protecting her daughter from current and prior circumstances, which was incredibly stressful. She badly needed a massage. "You'll tell him about this conversation, won't you?"

Della shook her head. "No, I won't tell him, and I'd advise you not to play games with him. He has a great affection for your family, but if you get in his way he will have no recourse but to tear you to shreds."

"There's that self-assuredness again. Well, Miss Street, I have a few things to be self-assured about myself."

A soft smile of triumph spread across Della's lips as the train entered another curve. "No, Mrs. Parrish, you do not."

* * *

"When was someone going to tell me that your father is under investigation by the State Artist's Commission?"

"That's old news, Uncle Perry." Kaitlynn stood with her back to him and Gary Hawkes, who couldn't disguise the worry on his handsome young face.

"Not to me."

Kaitlynn sighed. "Dad is a talent manager. He personally manages me, Gary, and about twenty other very successful actors and musicians, all who make a lot of money. He's always been completely honest and fair and never been accused of anything illegal."

"Until now," Perry reminded her. "The Commission thinks Max has embezzled a quarter of a million dollars in client funds."

Kaitlynn whirled on him. "That's a lie!"

"Lie or not, why wasn't I told about it?"

"This Commission thing has nothing to do with Gary's Uncle Lon."

"Lt. Brock thinks it does. And the D.A. thinks it's a swell motive for murder. Now, is there anything else I should know?"

Kaitlynn, chastised, shook her head. "No."

"Kaitlynn, it's been a long time since you've been told what to do, but from here on I'm going to tell you exactly what to do and you're going to do it. Understood?"

"He's the man, Kay," Gary Hawkes spoke for the first time.

Kaitlynn sighed again. "All right." Fighting back tears, she pushed passed Gary and exited Perry Mason's office.

Perry removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He didn't like being harsh with clients, and disliked being harsh with Kaitlynn as his client more than usual.

"She needs you, Mr. Mason. She's scared." Gary Hawkes leaned on Perry Mason's desk. "Please, you gotta help her," he begged.

Perry studied the young man's worried face for a moment before sighing. "Yes, I do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" _It's a girl!"_

 _He couldn't help but grin at the excitement in Max Parrish's voice. "Congratulations Max! I'm happy for you and Laura." And he was, despite a sudden aching empty sadness deep within him. "What is her name?"_

" _Kaitlynn," Max replied, and spelled it carefully. "We can't agree on a middle name, and only have two more days before the birth certificate has to be filed. Hold on a sec..." He heard a muffled female voice in the background and the sound of what he assumed was a hand being placed over the receiver before Max came back on the line. "Perry? Laura wants to talk to you."_

 _He hadn't spoken with Laura for two weeks, not since she had called in the middle of the night for the eleventh time, weeping and miserable about how ridiculously happy Max was at the prospect of being a father and how she hated lying to him. He mostly listened to her talk, alternately worried about her and angry with her – so angry that he'd decided to admit an enormously personal secret he hadn't told another living soul. He needed peace._

 _Fortunately, before he could tell Laura exactly why it was impossible for her baby to be his, she'd hung up on him with a loud bang. It was the one time her histrionics actually worked in his favor, and he'd celebrated with a shot of bourbon, reconsidering his previous decision. He wouldn't tell Laura after all. She wouldn't believe him anyway._

" _Perry..." Laura caressed his name with quiet exhaustion. "You have to help us decide on a middle name."_

" _Congratulations. I know Max wanted a girl." With Max in the room he had to keep the conversation friendly. "I'm no expert on middle names. I don't have one myself." Because nothing went with Perry his mother had insisted, and his brother had already been given their father's name as his middle name. The lack of a middle name wasn't something he thought much about. Della, on the other hand, was inordinately interested in names. But Della knew nothing about his friends Max and Laura Parrish and what went on in Washington, DC...or his apartment...or about how afraid he was that this little girl's middle name could unravel everything._

" _Really?" Laura's surprise was genuine. "At this point if we could get away with it, I wouldn't give her a middle name. But there must be a first, a middle, and a last name on the birth certificate."_

" _How about an initial? That would suffice for the birth certificate."_

" _She's a girl, Perry. You can give a boy an initial, but that's too masculine for a girl."_

" _Okay," he was grinning again. "What names are in contention?"_

" _I think it should be Maxine, but Max thinks it should be my middle name, Mae."_

 _He hadn't known Laura's middle name was Mae. What a coincidence. And what a relief. He had dreaded the possibility of Laura wanting to name her baby after him. The club he belonged to for people named 'Perry' had recently welcomed two female members. One spelled her name 'Peri', and the other 'Perye', forever shifting the criteria for membership in the club to people with names_ _ **pronounced**_ _'Perry'. "I have a theory about middle names."_

" _Do tell," Laura prompted, bored by the conversation already. She should have capitulated and entered 'Mae' on the birth certificate, but she so wanted to talk to Perry and the middle name debate was the perfect excuse to call him. Now she just wanted a nap before a nurse brought the baby in for another feeding. Barbaric custom, breastfeeding. Nothing but bottles for her once she got the baby home._

" _Middle names should be one syllable, short and sweet." Both Della and her Aunt Mae subscribed to that theory, as Della disliked her multiple-syllable middle name and Mae disliked her one-syllable first name. He listened in amusement when these two very important women in his life discussed names and found it humorous that those discussions made it possible for him to opine at this moment. Maybe he should add a middle initial to his name. Della would love to debate that._

" _So Mae it is." There was a loud whoop of victory in the background._

" _You sound disappointed." Maybe he should have chosen for the baby to be named after her father, Aunt Mae's rule be damned. "The ultimate decision is up to you and..."_

" _No, no, Max is ecstatic to get his way. He's almost dancing right now."_

 _That would be a site – tall, lanky Max Parrish dancing. "Glad I could help. So, what are her vital statistics?" He had heard Della ask this question many, many times as countless family, friends, and former clients announced the arrival of babies. Already this year they had received seven birth announcements, including Arthur Tragg's second daughter. How those announcements must hurt her._

" _She's a big girl – eight pounds, nine ounces and twenty-one inches long. Her hair is blonde fuzz. Of course her eyes are blue. She doesn't look like me or Max."_

 _He ignored Laura's subtly pointed comment. "I'll bet she's beautiful."_

" _Um, sure," Laura responded with a definite shrug in her voice. "She looks like a little old lady, all wrinkled and squinty-eyed. We'll send pictures to her Uncle Perry."_

 _He also ignored the Uncle Perry comment, wishing Laura could be more enthusiastic about her new daughter. She didn't realize how very fortunate she was. "I look forward to getting them."_

" _It's a shame we live on opposite coasts. Both Max and I would like for you to be involved in her life. Neither of us have much family and even fewer close friends, and we both...admire you so much."_

 _It was dangerous emotional ground to involve himself with Laura's daughter, but he sensed that while Max would be a fine father, Laura might not be the quintessential nurturing mother. For his peace of mind maybe he should maintain contact with the Parrish family...for the baby's sake. "Max isn't in the room right now, is he?"_

" _No," Laura admitted fractiously. "He keeps leaving me to go the nursery to see the baby. He's over the moon about her. It's too bad –"_

" _Laura," he interrupted sharply, "we've been through this. It's your decision whether or not you admit what happened between us to Max, but you will not ever tell him your baby is mine."_

" _I wish I could see a baby picture of you," Laura said in a small, quavery voice. "She doesn't look like me or Max."_

" _She will," he told her firmly, the aching emptiness taking on form and substance. "Let this go and allow yourself to be happy. You have a healthy baby and a husband who loves you. You are a very lucky woman."_

" _I suppose so," she sighed. "But Max isn't you."_

" _Max is the better man for you."_

" _Aren't you curious about the possibility...?"_

 _How much could he hurt a woman who had just given birth? As much as he hurt right now? "Not at all."_

 _She sucked in a shaky breath. "I guess that puts me in my place_. _Is...she...really that extraordinary?"_

" _Yes, she is really that extraordinary."_

" _Is there room for me in your life...as a friend?"_

" _As long as Max never doubts that Kaitlynn is his, I hope there is room for_ _ **both**_ _of you as friends." What a pretty name, Kaitlynn. He was getting sentimental about this brand-new little girl. He should send a gift, which he would not pawn off on Della, but pick out himself. Della repeatedly said she didn't want to talk about 'the woman', and what had transpired in the past eight months and ten days involved 'the woman', so he technically wasn't keeping a secret. He was complying with her wishes. Technically._

" _Max is coming back. I'll write and send pictures. Good-bye, Perry. I miss you."_

 _Laura hung up before he could answer, which was a good thing, because he could never say anything like that to her in reply, ever._


	8. Chapter 8

_Back from the last camping trip of the season!_

CHAPTER 8

"I know I should have told you about the Commission investigation, Perry, but Laura insisted that we keep it quiet."

"Why?" He could name a half-dozen reasons Laura wouldn't want him to know about her husband's business problems, but he wanted Max to tell him the real reason.

"If something like this went public I could lose my business."

"Max, the prosecution is going to expose it at the preliminary hearing." He had a headache. Della was being cool and non-committal about her time spent with Laura Parrish earlier in the day, and he suspected that things had been said he should know about, but would not be told until after Kaitlynn's troubles were over – if then – and Max wasn't helping things by not being forthcoming about the investigation. He should have been a dentist. He certainly had pulled a lot of proverbial teeth today. "Tell me about the investigation."

Max blew out his breath, a long-standing habit. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is missing from my personal client accounts. The Commission is claiming I embezzled it."

"Do you have any suspicions about who took the money?"

"I hate to think any of my employees would stab me in the back like that. I'm willing to make restitution from my private holdings, but the Commission would prefer to investigate the matter."

Perry looked Max Parris straight in the eye. "Will that be a problem?"

Max blew out his breath again. "The records are gone – wiped out by a computer error. Whoever took the money must have done it. There is no way of finding out who." Computers stymied him. He would have preferred all of his dealings be on paper and locked in filing cabinets, but his assistant had convinced him that computers were a thousand times more secure. In over twenty-five years no records kept in locked filing cabinets had been accessed, but in less than two years of converting paper files to electronic his business was on the precipice of ruin.

"Has your business been suspended?" He knew from Della's report that Max had indeed been suspended, but again needed to hear it from the man himself.

Max studied his shoes. "Eight days ago I was suspended from personally dealing with clients and subpoenaed to appear before the Commission. Direct contact with my clients is being handled by other agents in my employ."

Perry reached out his hand. "Let me see the subpoena."

"It's at home."

Perry nearly groaned aloud. "In your study...where Lt Brock found it the day of the murder. Damn! That's what he meant when he said he was working on a motive. Have you seen it since that day?"

Max shook his head, a stricken look on his face. "How could the Commission's investigation have anything to do with a motive for Lon's murder?"

"All the wedding guests witnessed it – Lon Hawkes brandishing an envelope and saying its contents would show everyone what kind of man you really are. Brock probably added two and two and came up with twelve."

Sweat beads appeared on Max Parrish's forehead. "Lon was drunk. Who knows what he meant?" Lon wasn't sophisticated enough to come up with such an elaborate scheme for money by himself...had he been used as an operative of someone more conniving?

"Max," Perry responded impatiently, "that envelope wasn't found on Lon's body."

Max Parrish jumped to his feet and crossed to the window. "What are you saying?"

His old friend's visible discomfiture was an ominous sign he knew more than he would admit. Damn clients who wouldn't tell him the truth! "I'm saying the prosecution is going to claim that envelope contained incriminating documents about the embezzlement. They're going to suggest that Kaitlynn killed Lon Hawkes and hid the envelope to protect you."

"That's ridiculous! Kay would never do anything like that – not even to protect me. She knows I can take care of myself."

"She was found with the murder weapon in her hand, Max. She was alone in the room with the dead man. Is that ridiculous? People have been convicted with less circumstantial evidence than that." Not his clients, but Max needed to be scared. He drummed long fingers on his desk blotter. "Who aside from you has access to your personal business accounts?"

Max let out another breath. Perry had never noticed how much Max resembled a horse when he did that. "Anyone using the main terminal has to go through me to log in. So basically, only I have access."

Perry fought back the urge to let out his breath in exasperation. "That's not an answer. How many people do you employ?"

Max slumped against the window frame. "I employ twenty-seven people. Twenty-seven people at my own firm could have broken into my computer files."

* * *

Perry took a sip from his coffee, while swirling the snifter of cognac in his other hand. "Are you going to tell me what you and Laura talked about during my meeting with Kaitlynn and Gary this morning?"

Della pondered his question for a moment. "I don't think so," she finally replied, taking a sip of her own piping hot coffee. No reason to upset him about Laura Parrish when he was so upset about what the woman's daughter was going through.

"Della..."

"Perry..."

"Darling, I know this is difficult for you. The last thing I want is for Laura to upset you. We have a lot of work to do and don't need any distractions."

She batted long eyelashes at him. "Why, this isn't any more difficult or distracting than Laura Robertson's case, or Ellen Payne's, or Janice Barton's, or Dorothy Fenner's, or..."

Perry held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Point made. I just don't want anything Laura says to interfere with..."

"Kaitlynn's defense?"

He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. "No. I don't want her to interfere with _**us**_."

She blinked back tears. _**Finally.**_ "She admired my watch." _And noticed I wasn't wearing the emerald..._

"Because by an unfortunate coincidence she has the same one." _And she probably noticed you aren't wearing the emerald..._

Of course he would have noticed they wore the same watch. "I noticed things and she noticed things."

The pressure of his fingers surrounding hers tightened. He should ask her about what she noticed tomorrow. "I'm sorry you have to put up with...everything. We were supposed to attend the wedding and then have a day all to ourselves in wine country, not rush home early to defend the daughter of my..."

"Friend," Della finished firmly. She refused to acknowledge Laura Parrish as what she actually was.

"Friend," he agreed softly.

She studied him, the man she had loved for two-thirds of her lifetime, and was nearly overwhelmed by her feelings for him. At seventy he was still vibrantly handsome, lethally charismatic, and to her extreme delight, capable of pleasuring her as if he was forty. "She said I was self-assured."

"Of course you are."

"She thinks she has reasons to be self-assured as well."

He sighed inwardly at Laura's stubborn refusal to accept what he said as truth after all these years. "You understand why I have to defend Kaitlynn?"

Della nodded. "Because she's innocent."

He could barely speak over the lump in his throat. What a spectacular woman she was. "Laura Parrish has nothing to be self-assured about in regard to me. I love you, Della Street."

"Not nearly as much as I love you, Perry Mason."

"I could argue with you about that," he replied, just as he had years ago to her reasons why marrying him would be doomed to failure.

"You could. But you would lose."

"The one case I would gladly lose."

She drained the cooled cognac and pushed her coffee cup away toward the edge of the table, never letting go of his hand. "Are you going to pay the bill and take me home, or do I need to drop several not-so-subtle hints until it gets through your thick skull that in losing you win?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _He opened the door to her apartment after ringing the doorbell, took three or four steps, and stopped abruptly as a shiver coursed up and down his spine._

 _ **Hi honey, I'm home!**_

 _This is what could have been all these years: coming home after a long day in court to a cozy home touched by the chaos only a child could generate._

 _The apartment was a disaster zone. Toys scattered over almost every surface; lampshades askew; pillows tossed on the floor; remnants of grilled cheese sandwiches and tater tots doused in ketchup congealing on paper plates next to half-drunk glasses of milk; a blaring television._

 _It was a lovely tableau: she sitting on the couch with eyes closed, an exhausted little boy straddling her lap facing her, head propped on her shoulder, arms limp at his sides, deeply asleep. He would remember it always._

 _He should have gotten here sooner. He should have gotten to a lot of places sooner. There should have been three grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates, three glasses of milk, three people cuddled up on the couch. But the work, his profession, wouldn't let him._

 _He tiptoed to the television set and turned it off, then took two quiet steps toward her, and she opened one eye. "Hi," she whispered. "You missed dinner."_

" _Hi," he whispered back, even though he couldn't understand why they were whispering. If the kid could sleep through the noise of the doorbell ringing and the television, he could sleep through normal conversation. "It looks like you two had a good day." He surveyed the untidy apartment again, avoiding glancing at the evidence of the dinner he'd missed._

 _She brushed a blonde curl from the little boy's forehead. "We had a great day. How did it go in court?"_

" _Good." I missed you, the Assistant D.A. missed you, and Judge Taylor actually asked after you. But I can't tell you those things because you'll feel guilty about staying home with the kid, and I won't do that to you. "Our client was acquitted."_

" _Of course he was."_

" _It was dicey for a while, but..."_

" _But you had a hunch," she interrupted, with a smile of pride. His hunches, unorthodox interpretation of facts, and a firm belief in his client's innocence were the roots of his unparalleled success in the practice of criminal law. No attorney was as dogged as he in the pursuit of the true facts of a case, and no attorney cared as much about obtaining a fair trial for his clients. That those hunches often developed during court proceedings only added to his mystique and legend._

 _His grin was dimpled and self-satisfied. "Yes, I did. A doozy." Today his client was cleared of dire circumstances resulting from bad decisions made by a good person. That was what really mattered, since he actually liked this client, and victory for a deserving person was a better reward than a successful defense for an unlikable client. Unlikable people deserved competent representation too, but he didn't enjoy seeing that type of client exonerated am much because usually they learned nothing from the experience and continued to spread their particular brand of unlikableness around the world. Prodigal bad pennies, they also tended to pop up in the news or back in the office from time-to-time, disrupting life for a few tense days, which was why there were only two grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates._

" _You'll have to tell me all about it when I'm not in the arms of another man. By the way, where is this little man's daddy? Wasn't he in court with you?"_

 _He picked up a couple of toy trucks from the coffee table, set them on the floor, and sat down. "He was finishing up another job. He'll be here soon."_

" _If Myrtle finds out he leaves Junior with babysitters..."_

" _She won't find out. No one will tell her. And you're not a babysitter." You, my darling girl, are more of a mother to your 'little man' than his real mother is._

" _Junior could tell her. We can't tell him not to say anything to her about what he does when he visits his father. He's only six. Trust me, he talks about everything."_

 _Usually when Paul Drake had visitations with his son he handed off whatever cases he was working on to trusted agents Faulkner, Johnson, or Inskip. Unfortunately, this particular visitation landed smack in the middle of Faulkner's family vacation and Inskip was down with a bad case of the flu, which left only Johnson to cover a multitude of cases. To complicate matters even more, Paul refused to hire actual babysitters, especially since he worked on Perry Mason's case involving the kid who shot his step-father with a gun the babysitter allowed him to play with. The PI trusted only Della and his agency's night operator Ruth with his son's welfare, and since Ruth was now married and expecting her first baby any day, only Della remained._

 _Despite the fact they were in the middle of a fifth major trial case in eight months, he could tell she wanted nothing more than to spend the day with Junior, and whatever she wanted he would give her. He had briefly considered requesting a continuance, but realized 'my secretary is babysitting my private investigator's kid' probably wouldn't be accepted as legitimate grounds, so he had reluctantly attended court without her. "You worry too much about what Myrtle might think."_

" _Someone has to worry about it. She's already ticked off that Paul won't consent to a divorce and argues with him about the most ridiculous things."_

" _What's got her ticked off is that Paul's crack legal team keeps thwarting her schemes."_

 _She snorted derisively and Junior jumped in his sleep. "That woman wants whatever will get her the most money, and right now a big settlement looks pretty good to her. Remember how she reacted when we went fishing and Junior jabbed his finger with a hook? She took him to the emergency room, for Pete's sake!"_

 _He chuckled, remembering how Junior had insisted that all three adults kiss his tiny wound so it would feel better faster. "But worms are dirty."_

 _She made a face at him. 'Worms are dirty', had been Myrtle's reason for rushing her son to the hospital, ostensibly out of fear he had contracted a horrible disease from baiting a rusty fish hook. Frank Heartwell, one member of Paul Drake's crack legal team, had to step in and quash accusations of negligence made to doctors at the hospital with a few documented reports regarding similar commonplace injuries the boy had sustained while in the care of his mother. No one felt good about the situation or the game plan for Myrtle and Paul Sr. to stay married until Paul Jr. turned eighteen, but it really was the only way to keep Myrtle from ruining her husband with a divorce settlement and absconding with their son, which Paul was certain she would do no matter what a judge instructed her to do._

" _When did you get out of court?" She didn't want to talk about Myrtle Lamar Drake anymore. The day had been too nice to be ruined by that scheming package of duplicity and greed._

 _He glanced at his watch. Yikes. It was after eight. "About three. I went back to the office, returned some calls, dictated those letters you've been bothering me about...and then had a meeting with Janice Barton."_

" _Oh," she said flatly, rubbing her cheek against Junior's curly head. "How is Janice?"_

" _Janice," he said very deliberately, "is no longer our client. She's a...bad penny."_

 _An eyebrow shot up in surprise. "What brought on that epiphany?"_

 _He looked at her with apology in his eyes. "Someone has been telling me for a couple of years. I finally listened."_

 _She didn't know whether to be upset that he had met with Janice Barton tonight when they had plans, since meeting with her had started the downward spiral of their personal relationship so many months ago when they had plans as well, or relieved that he might finally be seeing Janice Barton for what she really was. "Is she in trouble again?"_

 _He nodded. "She married a louse and wants me to get her out of it."_

" _I thought she divorced the louse already." It was a sad story. Never married and over thirty, no longer responsible for the care of her sister twenty-four hours a day, Janice Barton eloped with the first man who paid attention to her. Within a couple weeks it was apparent he was only after money, and when he found out Janice had no money of her own, had become threatening and abusive. Janice turned to her hero Perry Mason, who had saved her from the gas chamber, to save her from her new predicament._

" _Believe it or not, this is a different louse. Seems she married the attorney who arranged a quickie divorce from the first louse. Louse number two was just discovered to be carrying on with the nurse hired to care for her sister."_

 _Della's eyes widened. "You didn't refer her to Harvey, did you?"_

 _Perry laughed out loud, which startled Junior again, but Della rocked and shushed him before he woke up completely. "No, I didn't refer her to Harvey." His childhood friend Harvey Sayers was a successful divorce attorney, no doubt due to extensive personal experience: he had been divorced three times himself and was currently separated from wife number four. Harvey had difficulty cleaving to his wives after the wedding. "Janice didn't contact who I recommended. She found this shyster all on her own."_

" _Wow. A marriage, an annulment, and another marriage all within the span of a year. That's quite an accomplishment for a shrinking violet."_

 _He stared directly into her eyes. "She's not a shrinking violet. She's..._ _ **helpless**_ _, the most helpless human being I've ever met."_

 _She stared right back at him. "I thought that's what you found so seductive about her."_

 _He lowered he head. This is where it had all started, where he had made such wounding miscalculations about Janice Barton and took unforgivable advantage of Della's loyalty to him and to their clients. "Nothing about her was seductive or helpless during her trial. I was frustrated by her refusal to help herself, upset at my failure to successfully defend her, and when I figured out what she was hiding and why, I was...infatuated."_

" _For three loooong weeks."_

 _His head snapped up. "She was in my mind, Della, but I never wanted her the way I want you. It was...she was lost and fragile and no one seemed to care about her, so I had to take care of her."_

" _Perry," she said gently, "you aren't responsible for saving everyone who touches you."_

" _But I have to try."_

 _They locked eyes for several seconds again, impassioned blue and mercurial hazel. "Yes, you do," she agreed with a quiet sigh. It was one of the things she admired most about him as his secretary and the thing she admired least about him as his lover._

" _I never meant to hurt you. I had every intention of being there for your big event. When Janice called...I thought I could deal with her quickly and still get there in time. She needed help."_

 _Ah yes, her 'big event'. She had been so angry when he skipped out on the grand opening of Estelle Luddy's new design house to counsel Janice Barton. The event was important to her and she wanted him to finally see exactly how she could afford the clothes he admired so much, how she worked as a model and bookkeeper for her designer friend in her precious spare time to please him._

 _The event had been a full runway show to introduce Estelle's latest collection, and Della was to model several outfits designed specifically for her. She wanted Perry to be there, to share in her excitement, to see her walk the runway like a professional. She was proud of herself, proud of Estelle, and wanted him to be proud of her, too._

 _Instead, he was with Janice Barton instead of driving her to the event, and still with Janice for the six times she travelled down the runway, the six times she scanned the crowd for his unmistakable physique and didn't see it anywhere, the six times she blinked back tears while design assistants helped her change outfits. He had missed it all. He had missed it all because tragic, helpless Janice Barton, the only client he had failed to get acquitted (at first) needed him and the woman he referred to as Miss Independence didn't._

 _She took a taxi home after downing four martinis while hobnobbing with celebrities and various fashion industry dignitaries, fighting off subtle and not-so-subtle advances made by several admirers; and he was there, waiting for her, wanting her, oblivious to how much he had hurt her because after all, he had been working. Surely she understood that._

 _She told him to leave. And he left._

 _A month later he went to Georgetown for that ten week lecture series and she missed him too much to be mad at him. The three weekends she flew out to visit him were magical, just the two of them together away from the practice, away from clients who needed him, away from everything._

 _The day he returned to Los Angeles Janice Barton called in hysterics from the hospital where she was being treated for a split lip and multiple contusions inflicted by her husband of sixteen weeks because she had no money to give him. Della refused to accompany him to the hospital, and he left her at his apartment, promising to be back in an hour._

 _Four hours later he returned to his dark, empty apartment. He called her apartment, and the conversation could only be called incendiary, culminating in her telling him she was done being a convenience, that she didn't want to see him, and he should just stay away from her._

 _So he stayed away from her while she spent five days at the lake house._

 _When she was ready to see him again, to apologize and talk about why she was so upset, she interrupted his encounter with another woman._

" _Maybe we shouldn't dredge all of this up again, Perry," she suggested, afraid he was about to admit that Janice Barton had been the woman in his apartment that night. She had repeatedly told him she didn't want to know who the woman was, because in fact_ _ **SHE DID NOT WANT TO KNOW WHO THE WOMAN WAS**_ _, and spent no time dwelling on her identity. It wasn't denial, it was self-preservation. "The last time we tried to talk about it we said things we shouldn't have."_

" _We do need to dredge it up. We aren't communicating the way we used to, baby. It's my fault." He had accepted blame a lot these past months and would gladly accept blame for a lot more if only she would trust him again. "My priorities were mixed up and I shouldn't have met with Janice Barton when you needed me."_

" _I did need you." Her eyes filled with tears. "I do need you."_

" _I promise to never put a client before you ever again." He reached out and placed his hand on her knee. "I need you, too. More than you can imagine."_

" _I have a very fine imagination, Mr. Mason."_

 _He smiled and squeezed her knee. Such a sassy girl. "Yes, you do, Miss Street. I'm going to push that imagination to its limits..."_

 _The doorbell rang and she quickly placed her hands over Junior's ears. "That must be Daddy."_

" _I'll take Boo-Boo." He helped her to her feet and took the sleeping little boy from her arms. Junior snuggled naturally against him, thin arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug._

 _The youngster yawned. "Hi, Pare."_

" _Hey, Boo-Boo. Ready to go home with Daddy?"_

 _Junior yawned again. "Uh huh. Bye, Del."_

" _Bye, little man. I had fun today."_

" _Me, too. We must do it again."_

 _She laughed softly. He was certainly a chip off his father's block. She opened the door just as Paul Drake Sr. rang the bell again. "Hey, there are sleeping children here."_

" _Sorry, I didn't know Perry would fall asleep so quickly." Paul held out his arms to his son. "C'mere and give your tired old dad a hug, Deuce."_

" _I'm not Deuce, I'm Joon-yore." Junior yawned again as he was passed from Perry Mason to his father._

 _Paul slapped his forehead. "That's right. Why can't I remember?" He looked past the attorney to his secretary. "Thanks, Beautiful. I owe you."_

" _Give Del a kiss goodbye, Daddy."_

 _Paul turned his son upside down, dangling him by his legs, and backed out of the apartment, the little boy clinging to his father's knees and giggling. "Ew! I don't kiss girls. But Perry does. We should go now so he can kiss Della."_

" _He kisses her all the time. You_ _ **never**_ _get kissed."_

 _Paul Sr. rolled his eyes. "That, folks, is the sad state of my love life as observed by a child. Thanks again for watching this mongrel."_

 _She closed the door and leaned against it, smiling from ear-to-ear. "So we kiss all the time? I thought we were very modest in front of Junior."_

 _He pulled her close and sought her eager lips for a long, sensuous kiss. "I have a desire to be not-so-modest right now." The fingers of his right hand traced from her hip to her ribs, then splayed across her back while his left hand cupped her face._

 _She brought his head down to hers and for long moments their lips parried and danced with one another. "Maybe you should go home," she whispered against his insistent lips. "I have a lot of cleaning up to do." Plus you dredged up Janice Barton when I didn't want you to and my imagination is beginning to run away with me._

 _He leaned his forehead against hers, disappointed. "But I have..."_

 _She kissed him again and laid her head on his chest, not wanting him to go but knowing that tonight was probably not the night he should stay. "Call me when you get home."_

 _He drew her to him and captured her lips for more long moments. "Della...we aren't done."_

 _No, they weren't done. They were far from done. "We'll talk, darling. Just not right now. And definitely not on the phone. Special good nights only on the phone."_

 _He reluctantly let her go and opened the door. "I love you. Only you."_

 _She kissed the first two fingers on her left hand and pressed them to his lips. "I love you, too."_

 _She closed the door slowly on his hangdog expression, turned her back, and took several steps into the room. Soon. Soon she would let him stay. After they talked more...damn it, why was she crying? She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and stared at the glistening wetness._

 _Through everything these past months she hadn't stopped loving him, which made coming to terms with her convictions about unfaithfulness, her belief in him, and what he'd done painfully difficult. It had also shown her the emotion she'd based those convictions on hadn't been love, at least not what she now knew everlasting love could be. The emotion from that time with Michael Domenico her best friend Amy had been anger – anger that people who claimed to care about her could hurt and betray her at such a base level, because what she had felt for Michael and what she felt for Perry were worlds apart._

 _There would never be another man she could love as completely as she loved him, and despite a confusing, infuriating sense of obligation toward a disparate collection of women who intrigued him in ways she couldn't fathom, and would immediately stop trying to understand, she was certain he would love her forever. He had said so._

 _And Perry Mason never said anything he didn't mean._

 _So why in hell was she still pushing him away?_

 _She spun on her heel, lunged for the door, and yanked it open. "Perry!" she cried, before literally running headlong into him._

" _I was going to give you exactly two more minutes to open that door before I broke it down," he growled, before swinging her up in his arms and kicking the door shut behind him.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_My apologies for the lengthy delay between chapter postings._

CHAPTER 9

Della glided into Perry's private office with an armload of folders and smiled at Ken Malansky while circling behind Perry Mason's desk. "Dossiers on Dave Tynen and Frank Bossit, the two security men, Sam Wald, Max Parrish and Hannah Hawkes," she said, placing each folder on the desk blotter as she listed their names. "That's everything I could get on them so far. I'll have files on Kaitlynn, Gary Hawkes and Laura Parrish soon."

"Thank you," Perry said and watched with great appreciation the smooth action of her hips as she walked away from him back to the outer office. She looked particularly nice today in a melon-colored suit, and a blindingly white blouse. He found her more irresistible than usual when she wore white. He flipped open one of the folders and glanced through the neatly typed pages before slapping it shut and moving on to the next folder. After a moment he closed the second folder and opened a third.

"I have something to add on Hannah Hawkes," Ken volunteered. "I saw her in action at a karate lesson this morning and she's lethal with _**both**_ hands. She answered a few questions and told me she was surprised her uncle showed up at the wedding, but I got the feeling she was hiding something."

Perry rubbed his jawline, digesting Ken's contribution to Hannah's dossier. "I've talked to Kaitlynn and Max Parrish. That leaves the security men, Sam Wald, and..."

"And the girl in this picture." Ken walked behind the attorney's desk and showed a black-and-white photo to Perry Mason. "It's a copy of the photo in the pass Della found. I talked to the owner of the club where she hangs out and if the kid shows up tonight she'll call. Guess all I can do is wait."

"Della and I will do the waiting," Perry responded pointedly, taking the photo and placing it on top of the dossiers. "You need to find out what Lon Hawkes had in that envelope."

"How will I do that?"

Perry picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Della...is Gary Hawkes here?...Send him in." He turned back to Ken Malansky. "Gary will get you access to Hawkes's apartment."

Gary Hawkes, as usual a bundle of nervous energy, bounded into the room, hand outstretched.

"Malansky, right?" He shook Ken's hand more vigorously than the young attorney would have liked. "Right, good, okay. I spoke to the super and he said we could pick up the key any time after six. So, we can leave whenever you're ready."

Ken stood straighter, emphasizing the marked size differential between them. "Actually, I think it's better if I go by myself."

Gary visibly bristled. "Yeah, why's that?"

"That's the way I work," Ken smirked. He wasn't going to humor this punk actor and let him think he could be an investigator simply because he'd played one in a movie-of-the-week.

"Well that's fine, but it's my fiancée who's framed for murder and I want to participate. I mean, I don't want to sit around and do nothing."

"Hey, I never sit around and do nothing." Ken retorted defensively, leaning forward and jabbing two stiff fingers on Perry Mason's desk for emphasis. Who did this soap star think he was, anyway?

"I'm sure Gary just wants to be of assistance, Ken," Perry stepped in as peacemaker.

Ken stared at the elder attorney incredulously – he was grinning! "All right," he capitulated, rubbing the back of his neck to relieve an oncoming headache. "I'll meet you at Lon Hawkes's apartment at seven o'clock, okay?"

It was Gary's turn to smirk. "Okay, I'm on the case." He turned on his heel and hurried from the office.

Piqued, Ken came around to the front of Perry Mason's desk, hands gesticulating after the bouncing ball that was Gary Hawkes. "Perry, I don't want this guy underfoot." Who in the hell says something like "I'm on the case" in real life anyway?

"Ken, he may be helpful," Perry replied insistently. Gary had called literally every hour on the hour for two days pleading to help with Kaitlynn's case, until Perry had the thought in the wee hours of the morning to take advantage of the actor's relationship to the deceased to gain access to his apartment. Having something to do in connection with Kaitlynn's case gave the young man purpose and he had stopped calling...as much.

"Helpful? But Perry, he's an _**actor**_!" Ken flung his hand back toward the office door dramatically.

Della, who had been standing in the doorway since Gary Hawkes made his exit, ducked under Ken's arm, stepped between the two men, and handed a piece of paper to Perry. She wasn't a fan of the plan for Gary to assist Ken, which Perry revealed to her at three-fifteen that morning after nudging her awake, but she knew when not to argue with Perry Mason. Her tongue was figuratively sore from all the times she had bitten it so far during this case.

"Before you go to Hawkes's place I'd like you to talk with Sam Wald. He should be at this address right now."

Ken took the piece of paper from Perry, resigned to doing what his employer wanted without further protest. "All right." He paused for a moment, staring at the piece of paper. "You know, Perry, for a second I thought someone was tailing me this afternoon."

Perry's brows knit together in concern. "If you were followed, it might mean that this youngster is doubly important to us." He tapped the photo of the teenage girl. "It also probably means we should find her before the killer does."

* * *

Della entered Perry's office with an unimportant document in hand as an excuse to check on him. She didn't like how intently hunched over he was, noisily shuffling papers, occasionally harrumphing, frustrated that the preliminary hearing was tomorrow and very few facts made sense. "I haven't heard from Ken yet," she told him, "and he's not answering his mobile phone. It's been almost twenty-four hours." She picked up a cup and saucer from the desk. "Do you want more?"

He glanced up briefly without actually focusing on her, then right back down at the document in his hand. "No more, thank you."

She leaned against his desk. "You're really worried, aren't you?" she asked gently. He was usually at least outwardly confident; rarely this bothered by a case. As a matter of fact, she hadn't seen him this worried since...well, she hadn't seen him like this since the night before Janice Barton was sentenced to the gas chamber - no that wasn't right. Figuring out Laura Robertson was a murderer had devastated him, and he had stayed up all night wrestling with his thoughts on how to expose what his former flame had done. She had thought he might insist on defending Laura, but in the end he said a final good-bye to the woman he had once cared for; came looking for her, and took her home.

The very first time he'd let his bravura slip in front of her had been that time she'd hid out after witnessing a body being pushed from the upper deck of a cruise ship, and the aftermath of days of worry etched on his handsome face had made her feel awful...and deeply loved. Paul Drake told her afterward Perry had been a total s.o.b. for the few days she'd been missing, and she was certain he had been.

Perry tossed a folder aside with great disgruntlement. "Yes, I am worried. The pieces just don't fit." He had become a very visual person in this second incarnation of his practice and liked to have as much information as possible typed up and in front of him, especially since he didn't do as much legwork as he had in his younger days. Now, instead of pacing and moving facts of cases like chess pieces in his mind, he shuffled documents like decks of cards, scribbling notes and requesting what seemed liked endless edits to documents. Different method, same results: he had yet to lose a murder case or fail to reveal the true murderer.

As a side note, she was extremely thankful for the advent of computers and WordStar.

As Della turned and reached out her hand to touch Perry, Kaitlynn Parrish burst through the door, a veritable whirlwind in a pastel suit and high heels.

"I just saw my father!" Breathing quick and shallow with anger, eyes blazing, Kaitlynn faced the man she called uncle. "What do you think you're doing?"

He met the young woman's fury unblinkingly, acutely aware of how Della shrank into the shadows behind his desk. "Trying to prepare your defense for tomorrow's preliminary hearing."

"No, you're trying to make my father a suspect because of some stupid embezzlement charge," she raged at him, having none of his explanation. How dare he patronize her!

"Everyone who was in that dining room is suspect. Sam Wald...Hannah Hawkes...even your father."

"I won't let you drag him into court. You'll ruin him!"

"Kaitlynn, I know how you feel." He knew she wouldn't believe him, but he did know how she felt. How many friends over the years had he been forced to ruin in order to exonerate his clients? One was too many, and the number was far greater, including those he'd loved...or thought he'd loved.

"No you don't!" Kaitlynn shouted shrilly, shaking her head so that the dangling gold chandelier earrings she wore danced wildly. "I love my father and I'll do anything to protect him." She leaned forward, mustering as much of a threatening stance as she could and lowered her voice. "Anything."

"Young lady, that's exactly what the prosecution wants the court to believe," Perry told her, complete vexation with the case creeping into his words. "They'll try to have the embezzlement charge admitted into evidence to provide you with a motive for murder."

"Then don't let them do it!" To her it was that simple. Why was he complicating matters?

It was obvious to Perry she had no conception of what he was dealing with. "Kaitlynn," he barked, and she jumped. "Kaitlynn, are you afraid your father might be guilty of this murder?"

Kaitlynn grew quiet; posture slumping as she nervously bit her lower lip, which told Perry Mason it had definitely crossed her mind at least once. "No...no, he can't be." She straightened her shoulders into a less uncertain stance. "I _**know**_ he can't be. I'm sorry, Perry. I just don't want him to get hurt."

"Neither do I." The hardness of Perry Mason's face, oft-described as granite like, softened. "I believe he's innocent, and I'll do whatever I can to protect his reputation while making sure you're acquitted." He removed his glasses and smiled at her encouragingly. "All right?"

Kaitlynn fought back tears as she returned his smile. "All right," she whispered tremulously.

Perry looked down again at the documents in front of him as Kaitlynn left the office in a more subdued manner than she'd entered, but the words were blurred, and not merely because he didn't have his reading glasses on. "She's tough, isn't she?" he said to Della with an emotional rasp to his voice.

Della, who had watched the entire scene with moist eyes, emerged from the shadows to place her hand on his shoulder in loving comfort. "She might say the same thing about you."

Hearing the tears in her voice was a lance to his heart. He was doing it to her again, placing clients on the level she should occupy solely. "She doesn't know me," he said in sad regret, "so she doesn't know how far I'll go to protect her and her family."

She had asked him once how far he'd go to help a friend, and although she knew the answer, needed to hear it spoken aloud. He needed to hear it now from her, no matter what her personal thoughts were toward Laura Parrish, her husband, or her daughter. "How far is forever?"

He took her hand from his shoulder, pulled her onto his lap, kissed her, and cradled her possessively against him. "Yes, forever."

And she knew he meant something very different from how far he'd go to protect the Parrish family.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" _Uncle Perry," the sweet little girl voice whined, "Tell Mommy I can have a kitty."_

 _He grinned. These phone calls were a private joy in his life, a slice of normalcy he treasured._

" _I want a kitty! Tell Mommy I can have a kitty, Uncle Perry."_

" _Well, Kaitlynn, lawyers needs to ask questions and gather facts before they can do their job. Have you asked Daddy about the kitty?"_

" _Daddy said yes but I had to ask Mommy and she said no. I_ _ **need**_ _a kitty!"_

 _His grin widened. Max would indulge his daughter's every whim if not for the sensibility of his wife. "When your Mommy says no, shouldn't you mind what she says?"_

" _Noooo!" Kaitlynn wailed._

" _Honey, if Mommy says you can't have a kitty, I think you should mind her."_

" _Noooo!" Kaitlynn wailed again. "Mommy said I could call you and you would break...um, you broke...Mommy! What did you say Uncle Perry could do?"_

 _He listened to a muffled conversation between mother and daughter for several seconds while giving in to a chuckle. Max and Laura had a habit of calling him to referee disagreements or cast a deciding vote – such as settling Kaitlynn's middle name; weighing the pros and cons of several preschools; debating whether or not Kaitlynn should get her hair cut; selecting the color of her bedroom – and he enjoyed it immensely. He liked each member of the Parrish family separately and together, and now that Laura had finally settled into family life with Max there was less apprehension about the state of their marriage or her previous claim regarding Kaitlynn's parentage._

 _He had friends, shockingly quite a few, but Max and Laura Parrish were the only friends he hadn't either grown up with, met in college or law school, or currently worked with in some capacity, and the only friends who turned to him for advice other than legal. His friends sought Della's advice regularly on a wide variety of issues, which he didn't mind because she was insightful, thoughtful, and a much better person than he. What he did mind is that his friends, who he would do just about anything for, might not readily return the favor if it weren't for Della's existence in his life._

" _Perry?" It was Laura, speaking in her frazzled Mom voice. "Perry, this child is wearing me out. I can't have a cat in the house. They scratch and pee and shed everywhere."_

 _He chuckled again. "What made her want a cat in the first place?"_

" _Oh, she went to a birthday party and the little girl got a kitten as a present. So now she has to have one for_ _ **her**_ _birthday."_

 _That's right. Kaitlynn's fifth birthday was in less than two weeks. "How does Max feel about getting her a kitten?"_

 _Laura snorted. "You know Max. He can't say no to Kaitlynn. If I hadn't said no, we'd have a kitten already. Maybe two or three."_

" _Do you want me to get her a kitten?" These inclusions in family life captivated him, even though it wasn't often he had a strong opinion about the subject of the calls to contribute. But like the middle name decision, he had Della to thank for his views on little girls and cats._

" _God, no!" Laura covered the receiver with her hand and he again heard muffled voices. "Are you saying you think we should let her have a cat?"_

 _He knew Laura had sent her daughter out of the room before she asked that question. "As a matter of fact, I think all little girls should have a cat." The one bright spot in Della's childhood, aside from her younger brother, had been a beat-up orange tom cat she called Pretty. To hear her talk of her childhood was painful, except for when she spoke of the near-feral cat that liked no human but her. That had been one smart cat._

" _If I had known your feelings about cats, I wouldn't have told Kaitlynn you could be the tie-breaker."_

" _I have no feelings about cats one way or another. I simply have an opinion that a little girl should have a cat if she wants one. But she's your daughter so the final decision is yours and Max's." He always told Max and Laura the same thing, no matter who initiated the call or what the subject – ultimately whatever decision needed to be made had to be made by them._

 _What he couldn't tell Laura was that he would have gotten his own daughter an entire cattery in a heartbeat, along with unicorns and fairies if she wanted them. It was something he thought about occasionally, and something that had made Della cry when he'd told her about it._

 _Laura snorted some sort of noise not easily translated into a specific emotion. She didn't like it when Perry sided against her. "Great. Now I'm the bad guy who doesn't want a cat. Of course, I don't have to admit you think she should have a cat...do I?"_

" _I never counsel clients to lie."_

 _Laura let out that same noise again, which he had never heard before. He thought it might be safe to assume she was displeased. "We'll get her a kitten for her birthday, if you think we should."_

" _What I think doesn't matter. It's what you and Max think that matters." His phrasing was deliberate; having once made the mistake of saying that Kaitlynn's_ _ **parents**_ _should make the final decision together, which had led directly to an emotionally exhausting circular conversation with Laura he didn't care to repeat._

" _I don't want a spoiled child, but since you and Max think she should have a cat, I guess I'll just have to accept it. She's such a Daddy's girl and Mommy deserves a little gratitude once in a while."_

" _That she does. So it's settled?"_

 _Laura sighed. "I guess it is. She gets a kitten for her birthday."_

" _Laura...can I make a request? About the kitten?"_

" _I suppose so," she sounded a bit surprised._

" _Get her a male kitten, an orange one. I've heard they make very good pets."_

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"Where have you been?"

Ken Malansky wearily dropped into the leather client chair as Della silently withdrew from Perry's office, sensing things were about to get dicey between the attorney and his associate. Besides, she needed to reapply her lipstick and make a few phone calls.

"It would be easier to tell you where I _**haven't**_ been," Ken replied a bit dramatically.

Perry took off his reading glasses and leaned forward on his elbows. "Suppose you start from when you left here twenty..." he glanced at his watch. "Twenty-nine hours ago. And please remember it's late and I have a preliminary hearing tomorrow to prepare for." _Not to mention a neglected lover who deserves more attention than I've been giving her lately._

Ken heaved a sigh. He should have called, but there was so much to tell he knew Perry would chastise him for reporting over the phone instead of in person. Of course, he knew Perry would also chastise him for reporting in person instead of calling, so he'd tossed a coin. Really, he'd literally tossed a coin – one of those ridiculous Susan B. Anthony dollar coins that hardly anyone could distinguish from a quarter. It was too soon to determine if he'd won or lost the toss.

"I dropped in on Sam Wald while he was working on his race car – his _**expensive**_ race car. He bragged about how much money he makes and how if anything happens to Max, he's the only one who could take over the company."

Perry chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. "Max told me himself he couldn't run the business without Sam. I find it interesting that Sam isn't shy about talking like that to a complete stranger."

"Isn't it," Ken muttered. He hadn't liked Sam Wald much, boasting about how much money he made; insinuating a lustful life with dual vices of expensive cars and even more expensive women. Guys who bragged like that usually didn't cross the finish line with either one without major crashes. "By the way, you have noticed that Sam's right hand is heavily bandaged. He says he burned it on a car engine."

"Of course I noticed. I noticed it first at the wedding and again when I saw Sam in Max's office yesterday."

"Did you also notice how well he compensates with his left hand?"

"I did." He'd observed Sam Wald working very efficiently on a computer during his visit to Max's office. "What else do you have? Did you go to Lon Hawkes's apartment with Gary?"

Ken shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Yeah, we went to the apartment."

"And?" Perry prompted impatiently. Ken was a good investigator, but tended to not be concise in his reports.

"And, this case got even more complicated. I walked in, found a bunch of cassette tapes in boxes, and there was a guy – "

"A guy? What guy?"

Ken shrugged. "Just your average threatening guy. Only not just one threatening guy, but a couple of threatening guys. One came up behind me, conked me on the head, and the next thing I know I'm in a warehouse being advised not to waste 'Mr. Vance's' time and to tell him what I did with the 'goods'."

"Where was Gary all of this time?" Perry asked in alarm. "What 'goods'? What about this Mr. Vance?"

"Thanks, I'm fine. The bump is only noticeable from outer space." Ken said sarcastically, touching the back of his head gingerly. He still had a whale of a headache. "I didn't let Gary go into the apartment with me. I didn't know – or particularly care – where he was after I woke up in that warehouse." He paused for effect. "The 'goods' are bootleg Kaitlynn Parrish cassette tapes that this Mr. Vance imported from China, and which he thinks Lon Hawkes stole from his warehouse."

"Oh boy," Perry Mason said.

"I told you the case just got more complicated. This Vance guy had no idea Hawkes was dead. Once I explained who I was and about the case, he ordered his uh, _**associates**_ to, uh, take care of me." In hindsight, admitting he was an attorney working for someone as well-known as Perry Mason might not have been the best course of action.

Perry tried to disguise how alarmed he was by that piece of information. "Obviously they did a lousy job of taking care of you."

"They were, uh, distracted. Gary had trailed us to the warehouse, waited outside all night, and, uh, _**acted**_ his way in after Mr. Vance left." _And never once in all those hours thought to call the police or you, the dumb kid._ "We managed to disarm Mr. Vance's men and then I had Gary finally call the police. Which if he'd done –"

Perry held up his hand. "Is Gary all right?"

Ken shot the older attorney a disgusted look. "Yeah, he's all right." Even though Gary should have called the police right away, because his little ruse could have gone very wrong and they might have ended up in the morgue, he had to grudgingly admire the actor's courage for busting into the warehouse to help him. Perry could shove bamboo shoots under his fingernails and he wouldn't admit that, not after how he'd been in essence forced to babysit the actor in the first place.

Perry methodically drummed long fingers on his desk. "This case has no end of complications. I interviewed Dave Tynen yesterday. He was in the same correctional facility as Lon Hawkes for several months and Tynen recognized him immediately at the wedding. He knocked him cold before Hawkes could recognize him and expose his past, which is how Hawkes wound up in Max's study under guard."

"Not to pile on, Perry, but I haven't heard from Rocky."

"Rocky?" His brow creased deeply. "Who the hell is Rocky?"

Ken cleared his throat and felt himself blush. "Rocky is the owner of the kid's club where the girl on the pass hangs out." She was also an incredibly sexy woman who had come on to him very strongly. Too bad his heart had been ripped from his chest and stomped on by Amy or otherwise he might have flirted right back with the slinky, tattoo-covered club owner.

"Damn it," Perry muttered. "We need to find that girl from the wedding. She could be the key witness to what actually happened after Lon Hawkes was locked in the dining room."

"Weren't you and Della standing not too far from where the girl bumped into you?"

Perry challenged Ken with a look. "Our attention was directed elsewhere."

Ken accepted the challenge. "I'll bet it was."

To Ken's great surprise, Perry Mason broke into a carefree, boyish grin. "A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

"With the undying affection of a woman as beautiful as Della, I suppose he does," Ken readily agreed. "What if the girl only saw the spectacle of a beautiful woman incomprehensibly necking with the likes of you and nothing to do with the murder?"

 _I would put her on the stand anyway_ , he thought, _and make my undying affection for that beautiful woman part of the official trial transcript, that's what_. "Della and I were around the corner from where I suspect she was hiding, which is why we didn't see more than we did."

"Sure," Ken drawled, "that's why you didn't see more."

Perry jovial mood abruptly swung in the other direction. "Dammit, Ken, she had to have seen something. I'm afraid that whoever killed Lon Hawkes saw her too. We need to find her."

Ken sighed. He much preferred light-hearted Perry Mason to crabby Perry Mason, but sometimes reality was a bitch and the renowned attorney was what he was. "I'll drop by the club again tonight and talk to Rocky." He had definitely lost the coin toss.

"You do that." Perry pulled a folder from the middle of the pile in front of him and opened it. Maybe if he looked at things in a different order... "I don't need an audience, Ken. Find that girl."

Ken saluted, clicked his heels together, made a perfectly balanced turn, and marched from Perry's office to Della's more welcoming office. Almost instantly his tense muscles relaxed and his headache didn't bother him as much.

Della looked up from a leather bound accounting ledger. "Let me guess," she said with a smile, "he gave you marching orders."

Ken slumped against her desk. "Yeah. I need to find the fake concert pass girl."

"Yes, you do," she affirmed quietly.

"Sometimes..."

"Yes?" she prompted. Ken was a member of the bar and she knew he sometimes itched to be what he called a 'real' practicing attorney and not 'just' Perry Mason's investigator. She suspected that he was itching badly right now all over his body.

"Sometimes he annoys me," he admitted, jerking his head back toward Perry's office.

"Well, sometimes you annoy him, too." Perry was a tough but fair boss, generous with monetary rewards but not so much with verbal praise - except when it came to her. Because she knew him so intimately, she saw his cantankerousness as the disguise it was, and wondered exactly when he had begun to hide himself from everyone. Ken only knew this Perry Mason and not the more carefree, boyish man of his younger years.

Ken hadn't expected Della to say anything like that. "Does he annoy you?"

She laughed. "All the time! But the difference between how he annoys me and how he annoys you is very different."

"Of course it is. I'm not the love of his life."

She shook her head and hoped the blush she felt wasn't too obvious. Since reuniting after those awful years Perry was in San Francisco on the Appellate Court, they hadn't been as discreet about their personal relationship as in the repressed '50s, the mixed-up '60s, and even the loosey-goosey 70s. The mid-1980s to the early 1990s were much mellower, and she was more willing to let people see a bit of their very private world without worrying about reputations and ramifications on professional standing in the legal community. "There are no expectations in our personal life, but in our professional life he expects me to do the best job I can. That's all. He expects the same from you."

"He expects too much."

"No, he doesn't," she disagreed vehemently. "He doesn't expect less of either of us than he expects from himself. If you haven't figured that out or can't accept it, maybe you should find another job."

Stunned, Ken just stared at her. He had never known Della to say anything that harsh to anyone, which meant he deserved it.

"Perry likes you," she continued, "and he has complete confidence in you. If even one of those things weren't true, he would have let you go a long time ago."

"But he..."

"But he what?"

This challenge was very different from the earlier challenge made by Perry. He didn't know if he wanted to face it or back down, and grasped at something that had bothered him for a long time. "He doesn't treat you well."

Della sat back in her chair and regarded Ken with narrowed eyes. "You have no idea of how he treats me."

Ken dropped his gaze, thoroughly chastened, understanding he had gone too far. "Has he always been this way?

Della smiled at Ken's continued deflecting, even if his question was dead on to her earlier thoughts. "If you mean has he always been no-nonsense, intense, impatient, confident, and the smartest person in the room, then yes, he has always been this way."

Ken could only stare at her again. She was the possibly the kindest, most insightful person (and arguably smarter than Perry Mason) he had ever met and to this day couldn't understand why she had stood by the lawyer's side for nearly four decades. He thought he had found his Della Street in Amy Hastings, who had stood by him for only eighteen months, and he didn't think he was nearly as annoying as Perry Mason. All he could say was, "Then why?"

"Because he's a good man," she replied softly. "Beneath all the impatience, intensity, and ego, is a man who cares. He's never been able to admit it, but I saw it from the moment I met him."

He would probably never know the full story of Della Street and Perry Mason, although it was no doubt a fascinating tale, and he knew better than to ask Della to elaborate on how the man she so obviously loved was a good man. He had heard many stories about their not-so-secret relationship, and he detected an odd undercurrent in this case that led him to believe that as well as he liked to think he knew his associates, he really didn't know much about them – aside from the fact they unofficially/officially lived together and no longer booked separate hotel rooms when they travelled.

"I know better than to debate that with you." Ken stood up straight and flicked imaginary lint from the lapel of his sport coat. "I'll find the girl. But I'll do it for you, not him."

Della's eyes followed Ken Malansky as he left the offices of Perry Mason, Attorney at Law. When the door clicked shut behind the young attorney, she stood and headed toward the inner office of her employer, her friend, her lover.

Perry knew she was standing in the doorway without having to look up from the myriad documents and folders spread over the surface of his massive walnut Sligh desk. "Did you give him the 'he's a good man' speech?"

"I did. But he didn't buy it."

He took off his reading glasses and smiled wearily, amazed that he'd not only had the good sense to hire her, but to fall in love with her as well. "That's because he's too old for fairy tales."

"He thinks you're the big, bad wolf." She leaned against the door jamb, crossing arms and ankles. Self-deprecation was practiced only in regard to his appearance and the goodness of his heart.

Perry stood, stretched, and approached her slowly, eyes burning with an emotion that still overwhelmed her after thirty-seven years. He gathered her into his arms and breathed in her familiar, individual scent. "The big, bad wolf, huh? That's discouraging. All these years I've aspired to be Prince Charming."

"You know who you are. Do I have to put on _Waltz for a Ball_ from Cinderella to remind you?"

He captured her smiling lips in a deep, soul-purifying kiss. He would get Kaitlynn Parrish acquitted of murder charges and clear up her father's business problems so that she could finally marry Gary Hawkes, but right now none of those things were as important as taking care of the woman who inexplicably loved him. "Let's go home," he said huskily, desire for her exploding every molecule in his body.

She knew that tone of voice, felt the evidence of his need as she leaned toward him. "I have wine chilling in the refrigerator and ordered Chinese to be delivered in two hours," she whispered against his lips.

He pulled her close, up onto her toes. "That's my girl."


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi! My apologies for such a long time between postings._

 _~D_

CHAPTER 10

"What a circus," Perry muttered under his breath, fingers tightening protectively on Della's elbow.

The preliminary hearing for murder suspect/pop star Kaitlynn Parrish had brought out television reporters in droves, most accompanied by gaudily painted panel vans crammed with portable broadcasting equipment and manned by myriad camera and sound personnel. Police had formed a perimeter to keep the intrusive paparazzi reporters, news teams, shrieking fans, and gawkers as far away from the arriving defendant, her family, and her famous attorney as possible, but not far enough away to suit Perry Mason.

While his cases customarily attracted attention, the number of media outlets represented was daunting, and the famous attorney was in no mood to deal with them. He hadn't minded posing for still photographs many years ago, usually with Della by his side much like at this moment, then combing through the newspapers the next day to find the published photo, but he didn't like seeing himself on 'live' film. Della kept a scrapbook of every photo and article about him, as well as a library of tapes the television stations graciously handed over to her. He wasn't particularly looking forward to viewing the film festival of tapes Della would collect in connection to this case.

Kaitlynn, her parents, and Gary Hawkes were a tight-knit little group as they made their way from the chauffeured car Della had arranged to transport them to and from court, faces somber, heads bowed. Considering how many television vans disrupted traffic by taking advantage of their media passes, Perry was thankful she had thought of it. What he wasn't pleased with was the family's expressions and body language, especially after specifically instructing them to appear confident in public. He would have to talk to them again. Or better yet, he would have Ken pull Max aside and remind him of appearances, since suddenly no one in the family seemed to want to listen to him.

Case in point: a phone call at ten o'clock from Kaitlynn to sternly revisit her wish for him not to "throw her father under the bus" in order to advance his defense of her; a call from Max at ten forty-five pleading to be sacrificed if necessary to get Kaitlynn acquitted; and a call from Laura at nearly midnight inquiring about what she should wear and if he would be escorting her into court – alongside Kaitlynn, that is. He had ready reassurances for Kaitlynn and Max, but for Laura had nothing but annoyance, and unfortunately let it show as she objected to his apparel suggestion as well as his recommendation that she enter the courtroom with her family, head held high. Della, lying on her side with her head propped on several pillows, had raised expressive eyebrows in silent inquiry about his tone of voice. He had merely shrugged, turned out the light, and gathered her into his arms with what he hoped sounded like a contented sigh.

Laura Parrish had completely ignored his advice to wear a dark-colored tailored suit, and instead wore a wide-legged pantsuit of golden beige jersey fabric that left little to the imagination. At a party he would have complimented her, but the outfit, complete with gold necklaces and bracelets, was not at all appropriate to attend the first day of her daughter's preliminary hearing for murder. Petite Kaitlynn, appropriately sedate in a nicely cut suit and fashionably youthful chunky earrings, was completely overwhelmed by her mother's flamboyancy.

Perry didn't remember Laura this way. Her golden blonde hair was cut in the very same bob from twenty-five years ago, but gone were the conservative skirts, sweater twinsets, kitten heels and ubiquitous strand of pearls. This Laura, who wore trendy clothing and too much jewelry, confused him. Had moving from Virginia, a state known for charming southern tradition, to the progressive hodge-podge that was California changed her that much?

He looked down at Della, and his irritation ebbed. She was resplendent in a meticulously tailored collarless black suit and white blouse. Her jewelry consisted of a multi-colored crystal necklace looped three times around her neck, nestled in the soft folds of the impeccably draped blouse. The necklace was old, the culmination of a ridiculously romantic plan to sweep her off her feet that had been powerful enough to bring her back to him following several days of emotional wallops. That she still wore the necklace over thirty years later was a testament to her resiliency and her devotion to their relationship.

He would like to kiss her for luck, with a dozen news cameras pointed at them, although it wasn't about him or Della and their personal life, or Max, or even Laura today. It was about Kaitlynn, and clearing her of murder. That's where his concentration needed to be. A last-minute kiss would be nice, but he had sat in courtrooms with Della for all these years, so lovely and poised, and performed spectacularly, and today would be no different, because she would be with him.

There was such a crowd in the courtroom that he lost track of the Parrish family as he guided Della to the Defense table, until out of seemingly nowhere, Kaitlynn, wide-eyed and struggling not to let her shaky emotions show, appeared at his side. He seated Della, and then Kaitlynn. As he pulled his own seat away from the table, Perry surreptitiously watched Della reach out and squeeze Kaitlynn's trembling hand, marveling at the heart-felt sympathy and empathy she could offer the young woman. He wouldn't have held it against her if she maintained a distance with Kaitlynn, but that wasn't Della's way. When she liked someone, she could overlook what was difficult for her to make that person feel better. When she didn't like someone, well...look out.

He opened his briefcase and laid all of Della's perfectly typed, double-spaced notes in front of him, and fingered the folders for all witnesses on Assistant DA Robert Norrell's list and extracted one for Dr. David Stone, the first name on the list. He hadn't faced ADA Robert Norrell in court before, but many years of experience had taught him that the People liked to identify the deceased and establish manner of death crack out of the gate by examining the medical examiner of record.

And that is exactly what Robert Norrell, a folksy attorney originally from West Virginia, did by calling Dr. David Stone, who so emphatically declared Lon Hawkes had been killed by a left-handed person after a brief examination of the body.

"Dr. Stone," Robert Norrell began with a slight Southern accent, "would you please detail what you observed when called to the home of Maxwell Parrish on the day in question."

Dr. Stone, tall and slender with thinning black hair, adjusted his rimless glasses and glanced at a notebook. "I observed a deceased male who had been stabbed. The complete autopsy revealed recent contusions to the face and throat of the victim, and a single penetrating wound in the mid-thoracic region eight centimeters deep resulting in a laceration of the superior vena cava vein."

Robert Norrell held up his hands and turned slightly to the gallery of spectators.

Dr. Stone smiled. "In layman's terms, the victim suffered a stab wound to the heart."

The ADA lowered his hands. "Did you determine anything in particular about this stab wound to the heart, Dr. Stone?"

The coroner nodded earnestly. "I did. The wound was most likely inflicted by a left-hand individual."

"At this time, You Honor, I would like it stipulated that the Defendant, Kaitlynn Mae Parrish, is left-handed."

Judge Charles Kimbrel swung inquiring eyes to Perry Mason. "Mr. Mason?"

Perry replied without looking up. "So stipulated, Your Honor."

Robert Norrell seated himself, never taking his eyes off of opposing counsel. "Your witness, Mr. Mason."

Perry finally looked up from the coroner's file. "Dr. Stone, would you please tell us about the contusions you found on the victim's body."

"I found two – one on the jaw, and another on the throat."

"And were these recent bruises inflicted say...within an hour prior to death?"

"I assumed they were inflicted during the fight that interrupted the wedding."

"Do you always engage in such speculation when investigating a murder?" Perry Mason asked, but left no opportunity for the coroner to respond before posing his next question. "If the fight you refer to at the wedding was in fact just a single punch to the jaw, would that change your opinion about the bruise on the victim's neck?"

Dr. Stone stroked his jaw. "Yes, it would. Indeed it would."

Perry Mason tapped a pen on the paperwork in front of him. "Could we not then posit that the bruise on the victim's throat could be the result of a later struggle, perhaps between the victim and his killer? Or even an altercation right before the victim interrupted his nephew's wedding?"

"We could make that assumption, yes."

Perry smiled. "Do you always make so many assumptions when conducting autopsies, Dr. Stone?" Again he allowed no time for the coroner to reply. "Would you please describe the bruise you found on Lon Hawkes's throat."

Dr. Stone wiped his brow with a folded handkerchief as he glanced down at his notebook. "It was about three inches long and a quarter of an inch wide."

"About this long and wide," Perry said, demonstrating on the outside of his left hand. "In your experience, Doctor, would such a bruise be consistent with a violent karate blow?"

The coroner hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes. Yes, it would."

At that moment there was a slight commotion in the spectator gallery as Hannah Hawkes stood and exited the courtroom. Perry Mason watched as the heavy door closed on her retreating back before returning his attention to the witness stand.

"Exactly where was the bruise located, Dr. Stone?"

Dr. Stone indicated the location on his neck. "Here, just to the right of the Adam's apple."

"Could the bruise have been caused by a karate blow?"

"I said I suppose it could have been."

"No, Doctor, you said it _**would**_ have been consistent with a violent karate blow," Perry reminded him.

Dr. Stone remained silent, and mopped his brow again.

"Based on the location of the bruise, would such a blow have to be delivered by a right-handed person?"

"Well, not necessarily."

"Not necessarily? So, was the killer left-handed or right-handed...or don't you know?"

Robert Norrell sprang to his feet. "Right-handed or left-handed, Lon Hawkes could have gotten that bruise before he arrived at the wedding."

Perry Mason turned his entire imposing body toward the ADA. "You're the one who made a point that my client is left-handed, Mr. Norrell."

No amiable Southern charm was evident in Robert Norrell's reply. "And you had no hesitation in stipulating that fact. Save the games for the jury trial, Mr. Mason. This is just a preliminary hearing. All I have to do is show probable cause and that's _**exactly**_ what I'm going to do."

Perry Mason bowed in the direction of the ADA. "Mr. Norrell, all I have to do is present alternate scenarios, and that is exactly what _**I**_ am going to do."

Laura Parrish, seated directly behind her daughter in the front row of the spectator gallery, let out a small exclamation. "He's _**wonderful**_ ," she whispered, eyes following every movement Perry Mason made.

Della nearly groaned audibly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

" _Your mother married our father."_

 _Dumbfounded by both the fact that it was her brother calling her at the office combined with the unexpected announcement, she pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it._

" _Della Katherine?"_

 _She slowly brought the receiver back to her ear. "I'm here. When...?"_

" _Yesterday. They were married at City Hall right before five o'clock, went out to dinner with Lawrence and Sarah Allensworth, and went to the house, where I found your mother in the kitchen this morning wearing almost nothing but a gold wedding band."_

 _She pulled a pearl clip earring from her lobe and dropped it on top of a fraud lawsuit defaced by Perry's bold handwriting. This was going to be a lengthy call. "Did you know they were seeing each other?" She spoke weekly with her sister-in-law but Henny had not once mentioned that Jameson Street and Eve Sherwood Street Akers Wyman had contact outside of stockholder meetings for Milliron Corrugated._

" _Nobody knew. Not even Henny, and she's the one who's had the most contact with your mother since Bitty died."_

 _Common thought had been that following the dramatic dissolution of her former mother-in-law's estate Eve would leave and never return. But she had stayed when the only mother she had ever known fell suddenly ill, caring for her in between sporadic voluntary committals to the small psychiatric hospital in the next town._

" _This is the last thing I expected to hear after almost four years. I thought they were both done with marriage. The money Grandma Bitty left her must have run out."_

 _Carter replied with combination sigh and snort. "She says he's wonderful and he swept her off her feet."_

" _Her mental problems appear to be getting worse." Sometimes the inappropriateness of her sense of humor shocked her._

" _Or Father has gone crazy along with her."_

 _She had to laugh, because Carter rarely recognized or attempted humor. "She's crazy like a fox, Carter. Father is a handsome, wealthy man. She's made a career of marrying handsome, wealthy men."_

" _I do not want to think about that."_

" _He's also a smart businessman. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the mill, if that's what's worrying you."_

" _I'm not worried about the mill. I'm worried about..." her brother's voice trailed off._

" _I know," she said quietly. As emphatically as she maintained her brother was a corrugated cardboard cutout and not a real human being, she knew that beneath the judgment and concern for appearances he cared about his family. "If it helps, Perry told me that once they had genuine feelings for one another."_

" _How does Mason know that?"_

" _Father told him. Have you ever asked him anything about how he feels?"_

" _Have you?" Carter challenged. He was quiet for a moment. "What if Eve runs away again? When he was younger he handled everything that happened...but he's almost seventy now."_

" _Yes, he is. Old enough to know what he wants."_

" _But he's –"_

" _Carter, it's nice that you're worried about Father, but I think all we can do is congratulate him, and stand back while he lives his life."_

" _That's a very California attitude to take," Carter groused, "considering how he disapproves of your relationship with Mason."_

" _If you mean my attitude is open-minded and accepting, then thank you, because my initial reaction was that it's dumb."_

 _Finally she was making sense. "It is dumb."_

" _We have to let them be dumb, then. They have a right to be happy, and if being married makes them happy, we don't have any right to judge them."_

" _It's all about being happy for you, isn't it?"_

" _Life is too short to be unhappy, Carter. Or judgmental."_

" _And I suppose you're deliriously happy sneaking around with Mason?"_

 _She knew eventually the conversation would come around to her relationship with Perry. By mentioning his name she had probably steered her brother in that direction sooner rather than later. There were two choices: begin debating her life with Carter or hang up. "Perry has a full calendar of appointments, and I've got a pile of important documents in front of me that have to go out today. I'll call Henny later and if you want to talk more, we will."_

" _Nice little side-step, Della Katherine." Carter was no fool. "Maybe you should call and congratulate the happy couple as well, since you're so thrilled for them."_

" _I wouldn't say I'm thrilled_ _," she retorted. "I just don't think we have the right to tell our almost seventy-year-old father how to live his life."_

" _Even if he's making a mistake? You know your mother is..."_

" _I know what my mother is," she said irritably. "Let me leave you with this, Carter: a lot of people think Henny made a mistake by marrying you." She firmly placed the receiver back into the cradle._

 _He found her staring at the telephone on her desk, brow furrowed, lips pursed, oblivious to the fact that he had buzzed her on the intercom three times. "Is it going to do a trick?"_

 _She jerked her head up suddenly and blinked several times. "Huh?"_

 _He raised a hip and sat on the edge of her desk. "The phone. Is it going to do a back flip off the desk? You're totally absorbed."_

 _Her smile was brief. "Nooo. I was trying to decide if I should call my brother back. I said something to him I regret."_

 _Perry glanced at his watch, worry suddenly making the little hairs at the back of his neck prickle. "It's only eight a.m. there. Is everything all right?"_

" _It depends if you think it's all right that my father and mother remarried yesterday."_

" _Each other?"_

 _She snickered. "Yes. Each other."_

" _Well, well, well. That was unexpected."_

" _To say the least. Carter isn't pleased."_

" _Are you pleased?"_

 _She frowned_. " _Not particularly_. _But they can do whatever they want. He's almost seventy, and she's...nineteen years older than me."_

 _He grinned broadly. "Sure, at those ages they can do whatever they want. But what do you think about it?"_

 _She drew her eyebrows together slowly and sighed. "I have a lot of thoughts about it. A lot of conflicting thoughts."_

 _He reached down and took hold of the index finger on her left hand. "How about after our last appointment we grab some chicken Cantonese, go to your place, and you tell me all about those conflicting thoughts."_

 _She looked up at him with misty eyes. "That would be wonderful."_


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

" _Della!" He strode across his office, jerked open the door connecting it to Della's office, and came to an abrupt halt. She wasn't there. "Della!"_

 _Where in the devil could she be? She had said she would stay right by the phone in case he needed her. He had needed her, and she hadn't been right by the phone. He had called and called, and she hadn't answered. "_ **Della!** _"_

 _Behind him, the door to the law library opened, and his secretary poked her head out. "Good grief, Chief, I'm right here."_

" _Why didn't you answer the first two times I called?" He strode to where she stood in the doorway, snappishness blooming like May flowers._

 _She raised one eyebrow. "I didn't hear you until you increased the volume," she replied calmly. "I was busy." She stepped aside and waved him into the law library._

 _He took a few steps forward, halting in surprise when he saw the fourteen-year-old son of his trusted private investigator sitting sullenly at the eight foot conference table. "Shouldn't you be in school, Junior?" He glanced surreptitiously at his secretary._

" _Tell him, Junior," she prompted._

" _You can tell it so much better than I ever could," Junior said, voice dripping with textbook teenage sarcasm._

 _She reached out and lifted his defiant chin with a firm finger, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "I'll tell Perry, but you, young man, will tell your father."_

" _Will_ _ **somebody**_ _please tell me?"_

 _She placed hands on hips and turned to face her employer. "Junior has been given a three-day suspension for a prank he pulled in class. Since his father is out of town investigating a case, and you were wrangling a client, I had to stop working on said client's writ of habeas corpus and go pick him up."_

 _He leaned against the table, folding arms across his chest, irritation giving way to amusement. This should be good. The kid has already been sent home from school three times this year, all for clever but inappropriate behavior. "Well...?"_

" _Your investigator's son thinks he's Batman."_

 _He barely choked back laughter. "Batman?" I thought he wanted to be Superman."_

 _She glared at him. "One of his buddies shined a flashlight with a cut-out of a bat taped over the lens at the blackboard and Junior leapt from his seat, shouted 'to the bat cave, Robin', and ran out of the room."_

 _He chuckled, which made her glare harder, and Junior to puff out his chest. Quickly realizing he probably shouldn't have laughed, he cleared his throat and asked in his deepest, sternest voice, 'What do you have to say for yourself, Junior?"_

 _That was the standard question all the adults in his life asked him whenever he misbehaved, and he still didn't understand why, since they hated all of his answers. "Great stunt, huh?" Junior replied proudly. The accomplishment of making grouch-face Perry Mason laugh far outstripped the admiration of his schoolmates._

" _There was a certain jen ne sais quoi to what you did, but 'great stunt' wasn't exactly the answer I was hoping for."_

" _Like you never pulled stunts in school," Junior mumbled petulantly. There would be punishment no matter what he said, so might as well get his digs in._

" _This is a 'do as I say' not a 'do as I do' moment." The attorney, feet planted wide apart, hands in pockets, attempted to stare the petulance out of the boy._

 _Junior refused to be defeated, especially by someone who wasn't his parent. Shoulders squared, he opened a math textbook. "I'll do homework until someone can find time to take me home."_

 _Lawyer and secretary exited the law library, closing the door firmly behind them._

" _What happened to the little guy who used to crawl into our laps for cuddles?"_

 _She sounded so sad that he had to pull her close and kiss the top of her head. "A monster stole him."_

" _He's not a monster," she objected, voice muffled by how closely he held her. "He's a teenager."_

" _Same difference. Where does he come up with these pranks?"_

 _She sighed. "He's bored. And very smart." She extricated herself from his consoling embrace. "I'll have your writ for you in a few minutes."_

 _He grabbed her hand as she moved away. "Don't bother right now. Our client is safely hidden away where Tragg won't find him for a few hours."_

 _She rested her forehead against his chest. "Junior thinks we're old and out of touch."_

" _We thought our parents were fuddy duddies when we were teenagers."_

" _My father was a fuddy duddy," she said dryly. "Still is."_

 _He tilted her chin up much as she had Junior's and smiled at her affectionately. "And yet, here you are, the least fuddy or duddy person I know."_

 _She sighed and shook her head, suddenly perilously close to tears. "He doesn't listen to us because he thinks we can't possibly understand what teenagers go through."_

 _His heart was breaking because her heart was breaking. She loved that boy so much. "Did I ever tell you about the time Bart drove home from college during finals week when Mom threatened to send me to a work farm?" He paused to smile crookedly. "I was fourteen and expected a lecture, but all he said was that as he got older, he realized Mom was getting smarter, and since he turned twenty-one she was almost as smart as him. He also said he hoped it didn't take me until I was twenty-one to realize how smart she was."_

 _She stared up at him, eyes wide, grasping immediately Bart's advice. "You need to tell Junior that."_

 _He raised her hand to his lips. "He'll only understand if he's ready to understand, and I don't think he's ready."_

* * *

Court adjourned early due to a last-minute conflict in the judge's schedule, and would not resume until ten a.m. the next morning.

Laura Parrish reached over the gallery railing, grabbed Perry Mason's arm, and squeezed. "You were wonderful!"

Della turned away and rolled her eyes. Next to her, Kaitlynn Parrish tittered, and she cast a sidelong glance at the young woman. Kaitlynn rolled her own eyes and winked.

Flabbergasted, Della trailed behind everyone as they exited the courtroom. Kaitlynn turned back once, feeling guilty for letting her attorney's assistant see such disrespect directed at her mother, but Della was nowhere to be seen.

Perry piloted the Parrish family through the halls of the courthouse, past throngs of reporters shouting questions and thrusting microphones in their faces; past rabid fans clamoring for pictures or autographs, shouting 'we love you, Kaitlynn!'; past other attorneys and their clients inconvenienced by the sensational preliminary hearing taking place during their own legal proceedings.

Perry deposited the Parrish family at the curb just as the hired limo pulled up. After the long black Lincoln pulled away reporters swarmed him again, but he merely shook his head and waved at them jovially.

Della appeared suddenly at his side. "Perfect timing," she commented, watching the limo disappear into traffic.

"There you are!" He had known the instant she was no longer following the group without looking back. "I was worried you were trampled by fans or waylaid by reporters."

She shook her head. "I ran for the phones and called the limo. The last thing we needed was for everyone to wait on the curb surrounded by chaos."

Perry slipped his arm around her shoulders, brushed off one last reporter begging for a comment and piloted her toward the court parking lot. "That's my girl." They walked in silence a few steps. "I knew Kaitlynn would handle today well."

Della snuggled closer to him, smiling secretly to herself. "She did fine, just fine."

* * *

Ken and Gary Hawkes were meeting with Jake Lubin of Kaitlynn's record company with one of the bootlegged cassettes filched from the menacing Mr. Vance's warehouse, and Perry had headed off for a surprise visit with Frank Bossit, one of the wedding security guards, which left Della alone in the office. She glanced at her watch, placed the file folder labeled **NOTES:** **Day 1** in the center of Perry's desk blotter on top of the folders for the next day's witnesses, and sat down in his big leather chair.

Back in the day when Perry employed her and as many as five full-time typists, his faithful clerk Carl Jackson, a revolving door of interns and assistant clerks, plus the indispensable Gertie, she'd had the freedom to accompany him as he chased clues and clients.

Widespread use of car phones, desk top computers, and a remarkable thing called 'e-mail' meant she could do the work of those five typists by herself, and quite a bit of what Paul Drake once did, but it also meant she comprised the entire office staff.

She really missed the old days.

Of course, Perry's practice was worlds different than in the past, which meant her duties had changed drastically as well. She referred to him as being semi-retired since 'all he did' since stepping down from the Appellate Court was lecture and give speeches countrywide; belong to boards of corporations in five states; and accept a few criminal cases per year.

That was an aspect of his legal career that hadn't changed: murder still sought him out, and in the past several years a large number of friends and acquaintances had required his expertise, including herself. He often joked about what it said of him as a person that so many friends found themselves in need, but she knew it really was no joking matter to him. He had always felt responsible for circumstances he couldn't possibly control.

The sound of a door opening and closing interrupted Della's reverie. She jumped up from the chair and hurried to the outer office. Expecting Ken or Perry, she wasn't prepared at all for who awaited her.

"Kaitlynn," she said in surprise. "Perry isn't here right now –"

"I was hoping he wouldn't be." Kaitlynn interrupted, "I came to see you." Her eyes roamed around the room that served as both reception area and Della's office. "Can we talk about what happened today?"

"The hearing? I'll answer whatever questions I can –"

"Not about the hearing," Kaitlynn interrupted again, shaking her head, "about what I did after court was adjourned – rolling my eyes and winking at you. Did you tell Uncle Perry?"

"No," Della replied slowly.

"Will you tell him?"

Della motioned for Kaitlynn to follow her back into Perry's office, and indicated that she take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. She settled into the other chair. "What's bothering you?"

Kaitlynn wrung her hands. "Miss Street, I love my mother."

Della nodded. "Of course you do," she said kindly. "Everyone can see that."

"My mother..." Kaitlynn hesitated, clearly wrestling with what needed to be said against the wisdom of actually saying it. "My mother cares too much about appearances. She doesn't often look below the surface of things...or people."

Della hadn't expected such candor from Kaitlynn about her mother. The young woman's words summed up succinctly what she herself suspected about Laura Parrish based on limited observation and what little Perry reluctantly imparted over the years. "But you still love her," she said softly.

"Yes. She isn't a bad person...she's a dreamer, and when her dreams go haywire, she goes haywire."

Perry had said much the same thing about Laura Parrish once: " _She's intelligent, witty, and an inveterate dreamer. When life doesn't live up to her dreams, she becomes a completely different woman."_ Della nodded. "You're very wise and understanding. She's lucky to have you as her daughter. "

"It isn't easy being her daughter," Kaitlynn said ruefully, "especially when she acts like a love-struck teenager around Uncle Perry. Sometimes I think I raised her more than she raised me, but it was unfair to her and to you to be so disrespectful. You won't tell Uncle Perry, will you?"

Stunned by what Kaitlynn had just disclosed, Della wondered if the young woman had any real knowledge of the past or was merely accurately describing her mother's current behavior. "There is no reason to tell your attorney about eye rolling and winks."

Even though she had nothing to fear from Laura Parrish, Della had already decided not to mention the woman's gushing machinations, because if she didn't point it out he wouldn't notice. Yes, he always had been and still was _**that**_ ignorant about the effect he had on the opposite sex.

Kaitlynn impulsively jumped up and gave Della a hug. "Thank you! I'm used to how Mother acts around Uncle Perry, but I was worried about how you would react. I winked so you wouldn't take her flirting seriously."

Della hugged her back. "I appreciate your honesty."

Kaitlynn sat back down. "Can I ask you a question, Miss Street?"

"Only if you call me Della."

"Uncle Perry talks about you all the time. Why haven't we met you before, Della? "

That was news to her, and Della hesitated. Kaitlynn certainly was one to get right to the point. "Perry met your mother and father when we were...apart... and he thought it best that your family be his special friends," she replied carefully.

Kaitlynn eyed her shrewdly, clearly disappointed. "In other words, ask Mother or Uncle Perry?"

"That would probably be best."

"I'm not naïve, Della." Kaitlynn jumped to her feet again and stood with hands on hips. "I figured it all out a long time ago."

So. The girl knew. Or thought she knew. "Kaitlynn," Della began gently, "It's not my place to –"

"I know," Kaitlynn said almost dejectedly. "I just want my mother to stop hurting my father. I was hoping you could help me with that."

Well, so much for Perry's awkward assertion that Max and Laura Parrish were the happiest married couple he knew. If that was his true perception, then their friends who actually did have happy marriages should be deeply insulted.

"And," Kaitlynn continued, "I want to marry Gary."

Della stood and took the young woman's hand. "You will," she assured her.

Kaitlynn's lower lip quivered. "My dress has blood on it."

Della squeezed Kaitlynn's hand and smiled. "Now, that's something I can help you with."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: My sincere apologies for not posting regular updates to this story. Eye problems are making it extremely difficult to read, let alone write. ~ D_

CHAPTER 12

"Mr. Parrish, is it true that you are currently under investigation by the State Artist's Commission?"

Max Parrish had been called to the witness stand by Robert Norrell following the damaging testimony of security guard Frank Bossit, who confirmed the only person he saw entering the dining room while Lon Hawkes lay unconscious was the bride, Kaitlynn Parrish. Max was woozy with worry and sweating from the top of his sandy head to the tip of his toes.

Perry Mason leaned back in his chair. "Objection!"

Assistant District Attorney Robert Norrell bowed slightly toward Judge Macauley. "Goes toward motive, Your Honor."

"Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Parrish."

Max shifted uncomfortably in the witness chair. "Yes, I am, but no formal charges –"

The A.D.A. held up his hand literally in Max's face. "Confine your answer to my questions, Mr. Parrish. Isn't it true the Commission is investigating allegations of embezzlement?"

Max tried to look beyond the D.A. to the Defense table, but Robert Norrell moved a step to the side. "Do I have to –"

"Answer the question," Norrell barked, assuming the mantle of judge as well as prosecutor.

Max visibly deflated. "Yes, it's true."

"Isn't it true that these allegations concern the embezzlement of over a quarter of a million dollars?"

"Your Honor, Defense will stipulate the fact that Mr. Parrish is under investigation," Perry interrupted in a mildly annoyed manner. "However, these _**allegations**_ are nothing more than _**allegations**_. Defense would also like to point out Mr. Parrish is not on trial here."

Judge Macauley waved his hand. "Your observation is duly noted, Mr. Mason. Please get to the point of your examination, Mr. Norrell."

"Yes, Your Honor." Norrell turned his attention back to Max Parrish. "To the best of your knowledge was your daughter aware of these **allegations**?"

"Yes, she knew about them."

"And did she know about them on the day of the murder?"

"Yes." Max swiped the back of his hand over his forehead.

"Did you discuss them with her?"

"My daughter and I are very close. I have no secrets from her."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Norrell said snidely. "Did she express concern for you?"

"Yes, of course."

"What did Lon Hawkes do when he interrupted your daughter's wedding ceremony?"

"He barged in, was loud and insulting, and demanded to know why he wasn't invited."

Kaitlynn Parrish sniffled. Della handed her a tissue and patted her hand. Perry stared straight ahead.

"Didn't he also display an envelope?"

"Yes."

"Didn't he hold up this envelope and say 'this'll show people what kind of man you really are"? Isn't that what Lon Hawkes did, Mr. Parrish?"

Max passed his hand over his sweaty forehead. "Yes."

"And what was your daughter's reaction?"

Max felt ill and looked ill. "Kay was upset."

" _ **Upset**_? Witnesses have testified that your daughter said she could kill Lon Hawkes." Robert Norrell feigned surprise. "Your daughter knew the bind you were in and suspected the contents of the envelope could destroy you."

Perry rose to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. The People –"

Judge Macauley didn't allow Defense to complete the objection. "Sustained."

"She loves you," Norrell pressed on, "and would do anything for you."

"Objection!" Perry remained standing.

Norrell leaned closer to Max Parrish. "Would she kill to protect you, Mr. Parrish?"

Judge Macauley glared at the A.D.A. "Sustained! Defense's objection is sustained. Move on, Mr. Norrell."

Robert Norrell bowed deferentially at he backed away from the witness stand. "I have no further questions for this witness."

Perry sat down, fuming at Robert Norrell and disappointed in Max's obvious discomfort on the witness stand. "Defense has no questions."

A tiny sob escaped from behind the tissue Kaitlynn Parrish pressed against trembling lips. "I feel so bad for him," Kaitlynn whispered in agony, leaning toward Della for support.

Della patted her hand again, and glanced briefly behind her toward Laura Parrish, whose eyes shone with tears as her husband left the witness stand.

But it wasn't her husband's testimony that had her attention. Those eyes were riveted on Perry Mason.

* * *

 _A nagging sore shoulder prompted Harvey Sayers to make an appointment with his doctor._

 _A minefield of tumors discovered in his lungs forced his doctor to immediately admit Harvey to the hospital. The diagnosis: small cell lung cancer, an extremely aggressive form of the disease that had claimed the life of Hamilton Burger several years ago._

 _Thirteen days later brain scans showed that the cancer had followed a typical path and metastasized in his brain._

 _On day nineteen following diagnosis, tethered to oxygen, cognitive abilities beginning to fade, Harvey Sayers methodically signed document after document in the presence of solemn-faced college and law school buddies. Each document settling a portion of his estate, or planning his funeral, each shaky signature bringing him closer to accepting that he had merely days of life remaining, each application of Della Street's notary seal representing a virtual forged nail for his coffin._

 _After the last document was signed, there were very few words during hugs and unabashed tears from the gathering of several attorneys, a judge, an insurance executive, a newly ordained Catholic Bishop, and the confidential secretary of Perry Mason._

 _Murmured coaxing and the solicitous pressure of Della Street's hand on her arm finally convinced Pamela Sayers to get some rest in a bed instead of in the chair at her husband's bedside. "And you will eat a decent meal too," Della declared firmly as she led the glassy-eyed soon-to-be widowed Pamela from her husband's stuffy hospital room. "Perry will stay until we come back."_

 _He shrugged out of his suit coat, draped it over the back of the lone chair in the room, and settled his long, large frame into it as best he could. The sound of medical devices beeping, whispering, and whooshing filled the silence between the two men, as he somberly studied the wasted form of his oldest friend in the world before shifting his gaze out the window._

" _Drew the...short...straw, huh?" Harvey had rolled onto his hip and removed the oxygen mask._

 _He started at Harvey's breathless, raspy voice and smiled wanly. No, my friend, I'm afraid you drew the short straw and all I've been able to do is sit by your side these past nineteen days, fumbling with comforting words that should come more easily. "Della says I have to sit with you," he replied. "And I generally do what she tells me to do."_

" _Smart man." Harvey managed a smile before covering his nose and mouth with the oxygen mask. Up until yesterday in the wee hours of the morning he had managed fine with just an oxygen tube. The mask made it more difficult to communicate, and signaled another step down in his condition, as he could barely speak a dozen words without pausing for short gulps of oxygen. The original prognosis had been forty-five to sixty days, but everyone knew he would not make it to the lowest end of that range._

 _It was happening too quickly, and if anything, the past few years had shown him that he needed time to come to terms with losing friends and loved ones. Anita Brandis, wife of Jim Brandis and mother of nine children, died instantly at forty-two from a blood clot in the left-descending artery of her heart; Hamilton Burger fought lung cancer for eighteen months; good friend and former client Parker Benton languished for two days after suffering a massive stroke; and Dr. David Craig succumbed to injuries suffered in an automobile accident following eleven surgeries in ten days. Out of them all, Anita's instantaneous death was the most difficult for him to accept, because no one had a chance to say good-bye or tell her how much she meant to them._

" _We need...to...to make a pact, Perry." Harvey, still propped on his hip, had removed the oxygen mask once again. "There's one more...thing to settle...before..." he held the mask to his nose and took a gulp. "Promise me."_

 _He leaned forward and placed his hand on Harvey's shoulder, the shoulder that had been the indicator of what was invading his body. How many pacts had they made? Hundreds when they were kids, a dozen or so since graduating law school. "A pact about what, Harve?"_

" _Promise...my appointment. I...asked Governor to appoint you...to sit..."_

" _You want me to sit out the rest of your term?" Harvey had been appointed to the California Appellate Court by the Governor three years ago, something that he had taken great pride in and performed his duties admirably. The appointment literally saved his marriage, as Pamela had filed for divorce after several separations, but agreed to reconcile since the appointment would move them away from L.A. and the messiness of her husband's past._

 _Oxygen mask pressed to his face, Harvey nodded. "Yes," he said, voice muffled by the mask. "It's all set with...Governor. Promise...you'll do it. I trust you."_

" _Harve, I'm a trial attorney." His aspirations had always been relatively simple: have fun with the law and do the best job he could for his clients. By his own high standards he was successful at both aspirations, and being a judge, especially one tasked with deciding whether or not what another judge decided was correct, didn't interest him in the least._

" _And I'm...was a divorce attorney. Just five years. Please."_

 _Five years. In five years he would be sixty, an age when a lot of men considered retirement. He wondered if he would. Della maintained he would never retire, since he didn't particularly like to travel, and his sedentary 'hobbies' of watching movies, listening to music, and fishing wouldn't keep his agile mind occupied. He dreamt of experiencing the pure beauty of ninety feet from home plate to first base at all major league baseball parks with Della, which didn't necessarily have to be a retirement activity. If he was retired and the game in the final ballpark was over, what would he do then?_

" _Harve...I can't make a promise like that without talking to Della." He felt awful using Della as the reason he couldn't – or rather didn't want to – make a pact with Harvey._

 _Off came the mask again as Harvey leaned forward with great effort. "Please, Perry."_

 _He looked into the pleading eyes of his friend since the age of seven – a true, generous friend who never ratted him out about the 'shrapnel' scar on the back of his leg that actually resulted from sitting on a milk bottle when he was nine; who introduced him to his first girlfriend in fifth grade; who took the blame for burying two cases of beer at the wrong beach for high school senior skip day; who helped him get a job in LA after the trouble in Stockton; who loaned him money to open his private practice; who believed deeply in love and marriage but struggled to sustain both; who would drop everything to help a friend in need; who most certainly didn't deserve to be lying in a hospital bed ravaged by cancer, begging_ _ **his**_ _friend since the age of seven to carry on with what he considered to be his greatest achievement._

" _My...dying wish. Promise. You...keep promises."_

 _The words came out unexpectedly, from deep within his soul to placate his dying friend. "I promise, Harve. I'll sit out your term." He gently pushed Harvey back onto the hospital bed and placed the oxygen mask over his nose as the enormity of what he'd just agreed to shot from his heart to his brain. He couldn't renege, but he had to hedge a little. "I still need to talk to Della."_

 _Harvey closed his eyes wearily. "Better talk...tonight."_

* * *

Della watched Perry as he stirred cream into his coffee, and sat back contentedly in the private booth. "You look like the cat that ate the canary, Counselor."

Perry grinned delightedly. "I feel like that cat. In case you weren't listening in court, today was a good day for our client."

"I was listening, but I'm not so sure I share your enthusiasm."

"What?" He exclaimed in surprise. "How can you say that? The judge was completely sympathetic to Kaitlynn."

She spun her coffee cup on the saucer before replying. "At the expense of her father's reputation." Since their conversation, Della found herself becoming very protective of the young woman. The murder and Kaitlynn's arrest were traumatic enough, and dragging Max's business problems into the mix was like throwing gasoline on a fire. She hoped the resulting explosion wouldn't destroy the Parrish family.

"Baby, you know the strategy is to show Kaitlynn wasn't the only person to have a reason to want Lon Hawkes dead – or that she was the only one who could have possibly entered the den. Norrell tried to present Max's problems as a motive for Kaitlynn, and it backfired on him."

"I understand that," she said more irritably than intended. Robert Norrell had come across as unnecessarily bullying toward an obviously distraught parent, and the judge definitely took notice. "What I don't understand is how allowing the prosecution to degrade Max personally and professionally can possibly be advantageous to Kaitlynn's defense."

"I know you've never liked this particular legal strategy, but I have my reasons for employing it." He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers, stopping the spinning coffee cup. "You and Kaitlynn seem to be thick as thieves.

"She's a lovely young woman," Della replied evasively.

"She certainly is." His long fingers stroked hers gently, not fooled for a minute. His kindhearted girl had already swept Kaitlynn into her circle of 'children'. "I'm sorry if this is difficult for you."

"I can handle it," she replied breezily.

"I know you can." Della had always handled difficult situations he'd placed her in with grace and style, which didn't excuse him from recognizing his own insensitivity. "I'm apologizing for putting you in the position of having to handle it. I'll step aside if it's too difficult for you."

Her beautiful eyes looked directly into his. Bless his heart, he meant it. "That's a gallant statement, Galahad, and very much appreciated." She twined her fingers with his. "You know I won't allow you to do that. Kaitlynn needs you, and you need to do this for her."

She knew him so well. What had she told him over and over...he wasn't responsible for everyone whose lives touched his, even though he was hell-bent on accepting responsibility. He needed to help the family he cared for and she would stand with him, as always. Despite wounds of betrayal stripped raw by meeting the woman who thought she occupied a more important place in his life and heart than she actually did, Della Street would conquer all.

"Hannah Hawkes is on the People's witness list for tomorrow," he announced. It was unnecessary to acknowledge her comment, because they both knew she was right. "If it makes you feel any better, I plan to go after her more strenuously than Norrell went after Max."

She wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't."

"Until I can find more than the outline pieces of the puzzle, my dear, I'm afraid it's all we have. It's called raising doubt."

She eyed him shrewdly. "Isn't having Hannah describe everything her uncle did to her putting the deceased on trial? I think the judge might agree with me."

He flashed a grin. "I intend to ask for the widest possible latitude in regard to Hannah's testimony."

"In other words, you intend to throw Hannah to the wolves."

He withdrew his hand and sat back, exasperated by her Devil's Advocate posturing. Usually she easily followed his strategies to their intended end, but for some reason tonight was stubbornly refusing to. "In other words, I intend to defend my client by presenting alternate motives and suspects. I do this all the time – why does it suddenly bother you so much?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe it's because there isn't anyone involved in the case I want to be the real murderer."

"Not even Laura?"

"That's not funny, mister."

"Just trying to lighten the mood. You're a real bummer tonight."

She actually laughed. "Where did you get that?"

"From Gary. Young people these days speak in an entirely different language than we do."

She laughed again. "Our parents said the same thing about us."

"I suppose so. But I'm telling you, fer sure, like, our slang was like totally way more tubular. Fer sure, fer sure."

Her laughter filled the restaurant, and several diners turned to check out what was so funny. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes, amazed that he could and actually would quote such a song. "I'm like totally freaking out right now. I might allow you to take me home and have your way with me."

He immediately signaled for the check.

* * *

 _Harvey Sayers lapsed into a coma within ten minutes of his wife returning from a two-hour nap and passed away two days later. Twenty-one days. The doctors had been much too optimistic with their prognosis._

 _His funeral was held at the Sayers estate, a casual nondenominational service delivered by Bishop Stefan Corro. Accustomed to and more comfortable with the pomp and circumstance of his own religion, Stefan floundered, letting the grieving gathering in on the secret that priests were mere humans._

 _Following a repast of hamburgers, baked beans, potato chips and onion dip, food specifically chosen by Harvey on fateful day nineteen, Pamela gave a tearful speech thanking everyone for their friendship and support, shared a few stories about her husband, and then announced that Perry Mason had graciously agreed to sit out Harvey's term on the Appellate Court in San Francisco._

 _Stunned beyond words, he looked down at Della, who stared right back up at him._

 _"Do you have something you'd like to share with the class?" she asked, raising one finely shaped eyebrow._

 _He cleared his throat. "We need to talk."_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Robert Norrell called Hannah Hawkes to the stand. The future sister-in-law of Kaitlynn Parrish looked pale and nervous as she slowly walked toward the witness stand.

"Uncle Perry," Kaitlynn whispered urgently. "You need to know something Gary told me about Hannah and their Uncle Lon..."

Perry squeezed her arm, and held up one of Della's very thorough dossiers. "I already know."

Robert Norrell cleared his throat. "Miss Hawkes, the Defendant is engaged to marry your brother Gary Hawkes, is she not?"

Hannah adjusted her skirt, clearly uncomfortable on the stand. "Yes."

"Your Honor, the People request permission to regard this witness as hostile."

Judge Macauley frowned slightly. "Permission granted."

"At the time Lon Hawkes was knocked down at the wedding, you were standing beside your brother Gary Hawkes and the Defendant, were you not?"

Hannah looked like she might be ill, tried to reply, but could say nothing.

"Your Honor, would you direct the witness to answer the question?"

Judge Macauley leaned forward. "You are under oath, Miss Hawkes," he chastised, sternly. "Answer the question."

Hannah swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes, that's where I was standing."

"And what did you hear Kaitlynn Parrish say regarding her feelings toward your uncle Lon Hawkes?"

The witness swallowed again, clearly in distress. "She said 'I could kill him'."

Robert Norrell couldn't suppress a smirk. "No further questions."

"People say and do things all the time they don't mean and later regret," Hannah said almost desperately.

Robert Norrell let his self-satisfied smirk be seen by the entire gallery of spectators as he turned slowly toward the Defense table. "Your witness, Counselor."

Della still wasn't on board with Perry's strategy to expose Hannah Hawkes's sad, violent history with her uncle on the witness stand, considering a last-minute discovery about another person close to the Parrish family that could take the case in an entirely different direction. If for the sake of expedience it could be stipulated that the victim was an abhorrent human being, a lot of personal pain might be avoided, and she wouldn't be so upset, but unfortunately, Lady Justice frowned upon putting the victim on trial.

"Miss Hawkes," Perry Mason, standing at the Defense table, began in his most urbane manner, "may I call you Hannah?"

As awed by the legendary attorney cross-examining her as she was frightened by the amiable District Attorney, the witness couldn't reply immediately. Finally she found her voice. "Yes – yes, of course."

"Hannah, isn't it true that you once tried to kill Lon Hawkes?"

Hannah blinked furiously. "No."

"Hannah, didn't you try to stab your Uncle Lon three years ago with a kitchen knife?" He pressed on without a reply, before Norrell could object. "Your brother stopped you, but if he hadn't...Hannah, Gary doesn't know why you did it, but I believe I do." His voice as low and kind, and every single person in the courtroom was completely silent, straining to hear his words. Even Robert Norrell seemed enthralled.

"I – I don't know what you mean." This man was her hero, the type of attorney every law student aspired to be. His cases were regularly used in criminal law courses, and although she had studied many of them thoroughly, she was not prepared for the mesmerizing blue eyes; the expressive voice; the daunting presence of the man in person.

Perry Mason sat down. Being tall, broad-shouldered, and possessing what had oft been described as granite-like features, he knew that if he remained standing Norrell would likely object on the grounds of intimidation. "You disappeared for three years," he said gently. "You didn't call, didn't in any way communicate with your brother. Hannah, why don't you at last tell everyone what happened to make you try to kill your uncle."

Hannah Hawkes stared at Perry Mason, emotions swinging between betrayal and relief. It would feel so good to finally tell the truth. She took a deep breath. "Uncle Lon beat me. He beat me so severely that...that an ambulance was called."

Perry lowered his head momentarily in sympathy. "Your uncle was a violent man."

Robert Norrell leapt to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor! The victim is not on trial."

He should be, Della thought crossly, tiny frown lines appearing between her eyes at what she considered short-sightedness of the law in regard to this case. If ever a murder victim deserved to be put on trial, Lon Hawkes was that victim. She almost hoped Perry would concede to Norrell and end his cross-examination of Hannah, although she knew there was more he wanted from Hannah Hawkes.

"Your Honor," Perry said imperturbably, "since this witness is considered hostile, I request the widest possible attitude in order to get at the truth."

"Objection overruled." Judge Macauley leaned toward a distraught Hannah Hawkes. "Answer Mr. Mason's question, Miss Hawkes."

"He, um, he could be very violent, especially if he'd been drinking. He fractured my jaw and dislocated my shoulder. I spent two days in the hospital."

"You must have hated him," Perry Mason said sympathetically, half expecting an objection that he was leading the witness. "And yet, you kept what happened a secret."

Hannah looked very small and fragile on the witness stand while trying to maintain her composure. "I did. I hated him. But I never told anyone what he'd done to me. Not even my brother."

"Why not, Hannah?"

"Because Uncle Lon frightened me. You have no idea what it feels like to be that afraid of someone."

Perry let Hannah's words settle over the courtroom for a few seconds before speaking. "So three years ago you left home and stayed away until this past March when Lon Hawkes was sentenced to prison for assault."

"Yes. I thought I was finally safe."

"When you saw him at your brother's wedding, did you still hate him?"

Hannah sat up straight in the witness chair. "More than you can imagine," she replied firmly.

"Enough to kill him?"

"I wanted to, and I honestly think I could have." She held her idol's gaze, fully aware of what she had just admitted under oath and what Perry Mason was trying to accomplish with this line of questioning, "But I didn't. And neither did Kaitlynn."

Perry looked down at his notes, then up at the Hannah Hawkes, granite features softened by sincere sympathy. "No further questions, your Honor."

Judge Macauley nodded toward Robert Norrell. "Any re-direct, Mr. Norell?"

The District Attorney was still smirking. "No, Your Honor."

'In that case, Court is recessed thirty minutes."

* * *

" _I can call Max and cancel. We haven't had time alone in weeks."_

 _She pulled the turbaned towel off her head and shook out damp curls, which had always driven him mad with desire. "No, you've cancelled dinner with him twice already. And besides, I have to make an appearance at the Gordon Foundation fundraiser."_

 _They were together so little lately that any time not spent completely alone sent them back to their respective cities dissatisfied and unfulfilled. In the first year of his judicial duties, they spent every weekend, holiday, and vacation together. By year three it was every other weekend, July 4_ _th_ _, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and each took vacations without the other. It was now late in year four and the end of Harvey's original appointment tenure was nearing, but their busy schedules and separate commitments often made being together frustratingly difficult._

 _He appeared in the bathroom doorway, expertly knotting his tie and securing a gold bar without benefit of a mirror. She liked it when he wore tie bars and flashy cuff links. "How about Max and I go with you to the fundraiser? You could finally meet him."_

" _You would be bored silly, and I won't be able to spend much time with you."_

" _Max and I can catch up just as easily at a boring fundraiser as we can at a restaurant," he pointed out. Even if she couldn't be by his side the entire night, he could at least see her, admire her, be ridiculously proud of her. There was a time that it didn't matter how many people were around, they still felt alone in their world together. How times had changed._

 _She placed her hand on his freshly shaved cheek. "No, you said you and Max have lots of things to talk about. Tell you what I'll do – I'll develop a headache and leave early enough for us to..."_

" _To what?" She smelled marvelous fresh out of the shower, and he nearly ripped off his newly knotted tie and dropped her to the floor. How long had it been since they'd been rambunctious on anything but a bed? A year? Yes, almost exactly a year from the night he'd shown up at her house by surprise and wantonly taken her against the cool, hard surface of the front door with a ravenous longing that left them spent and speechless._

" _To have fun," she finished in a sexy whisper, trailing her fingers down his cheek as she ducked away from his attempt to embrace her. "None of that, Your Honor! We have obligations."_

" _Damn obligations," he groused. He had never felt so unsettled and unfulfilled, not even during the two years they spent dancing around physical intimacy at the beginning of their relationship. They were always in a hurry lately, running from one work-related event to the other either in Los Angeles or San Francisco with little or no time to enjoy one another._

" _I know," she said sympathetically, even though her eyes sparkled with whimsy, "it stinks being an adult."_

" _Seriously, Della. I'll call Max and push dinner back thirty minutes."_

 _She raised one eyebrow. "Only thirty minutes?"_

 _His smile was quick and boyish. "An appetizer."_

 _She wanted an appetizer, Lord how she wanted it! The fundraiser would be almost tolerable if she wasn't lusting so mightily for Perry. Dang that tie bar. "Two hours, darling. Two hours and we can have a full meal."_

" _I really don't like when we talk in metaphors." He turned and strode toward the bedroom door._

" _You started it," she called after him._

" _Two hours!" he bellowed, feet pounding heavily on the stairs._

 _Tears unexpectedly welled in her eyes when the front door slammed. Thirty minutes. She couldn't take thirty minutes from yet another Gordon Foundation fundraiser to make the most important person in her life happy. Not to mention herself. What was wrong with her?_

 _She squeezed into a slightly scandalous dress Perry enjoyed taking off of her and was ready to head downstairs when the telephone rang. Seriously tempted to let it ring, she had one foot on the top step when she abruptly turned and hurried back into the bedroom. "Hello," she almost sang, half expecting it to be Perry calling to say 'two hours', and hanging up._

 _But it was a woman's voice on the other end of the line, smooth and low, with a soft Southern accent. "Oh...hello. I'm not sure I have...is Perry there?"_

" _No, I'm afraid he's out. May I take a message?" Perry's official Los Angeles address was still the downtown apartment, which was subleased to a college friend since his move to San Francisco, and he gave out her telephone number when he would be in Los Angeles. The woman didn't sound like either Eileen or Linda, his legal assistant and law clerk respectively, or even either of the female judges on the Appellate bench, both of whom had very loud, boisterous voices._

" _Oh," the woman repeated, "I was hoping to catch him. I called my husband's hotel...my husband is Max Parrish. I'm Laura Parrish. And you are...?"_

" _I-I'm Della Street, Perry's..."_

" _Oh! You're Perry's_ _ **secretary**_ _! He's mentioned you."_

 _Her entire body stiffened. Perry had 'mentioned' her? "No, I'm no longer Perry's secretary..."_

" _Oh, that's right! You stayed in Los Angeles when Perry became a judge. Now I remember." In the background a young girl's voice could be heard, obviously whining, obviously vexed. "Excuse me, Miss Street..."_

 _She couldn't hear much of the muffled conversation, just enough to figure out that the young girl wanted to go somewhere and her mother wasn't inclined to allow her to, in a very harsh tone._

" _I must apologize, Miss Street. I'm the world's meanest mother right now because I don't think a fifteen-year-old...no, she's not fifteen yet...she was born on February 12th, exactly nine months and one week after Perry left Georgetown...Kaitlynn Mae! Stop whining right now or I'll hang up and you definitely won't go to that party. To your room, young lady._ _ **March**_ _!"_

 _She listened silently as teenage Kaitlynn Mae Parrish protested and her mother commanded her to leave the room repeatedly. Finally, she heard stomping footsteps and a slamming door._

" _I apologize again, Miss Street," Laura Parrish's smooth voice was contrite. "It's difficult bringing up my daughter virtually alone in Virginia since my husband spends so much time in California."_

" _Your daughter's name is lovely," she said sincerely, excruciatingly uncomfortable with the entire conversation._

 _Laura Parrish laughed. "I heard the name somewhere when I was a child and never forgot it. Her middle name caused a lot of arguments until Perry insisted it should be Mae."_

 _Her legs gave out and she sat down hard on the bed. Of course Perry would choose Mae, because it was the perfect one-syllable name, and one-syllable names were meant to be middle names. Aunt Mae always said so. "It is a lovely name."_

" _I didn't necessarily want children, but when I found out I was expecting, the baby became the most important thing in the world to me. My pregnancy brought the baby's father and me so much closer together. Kaitlynn adores her father, and he adores her, even though he can't spend as much time with her as he'd like."_

" _That's nice."_

" _Yes," Laura Parrish bubbled on, "her father is a busy man, but he always does something special for her."_

" _Mrs. Parrish, I'm late for a function..."_

" _Oh! I've been prattling on about my little darling and you've been such a dear to listen. Do you know where I might be able to reach Perry... and my husband? I thought they might be at Perry's perfectly lovely bachelor apartment..."_

" _Perry hasn't lived in that apartment for several years," she said dully. Being clubbed by innuendo was brutal and she needed to insert a bit of her own._

" _Oh, that's a shame. It was such a nice apartment. So masculine – just like the man who lived there."_

" _Mrs. Parrish, I can give you the phone number of the restaurant where Perry and your husband are having dinner. It's an Italian place called Luigi's..."_

" _That would be marvelous, Miss Street! I'm afraid my husband will need to decide whether or not she can attend this party she's been invited to."_

 _She slowly gave the phone number to Luigi's and Laura Parrish repeated it. "Perry left late and won't be there for another few minutes, but your husband might be there already."_

" _I'll wait for Perry to get there before I call. He likes to be part of these skirmishes with Kaitlynn. It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Miss Street. Perry has spoken highly of you."_

 _She couldn't say the same about Laura Parrish, because Perry never spoke of her except in passing as his friend Max Parrish's wife. Most likely because she'd told him she didn't want to know anything about the woman who had been in his apartment that awful night five days after he came home from Georgetown._

 _Exactly nine months and one week before Kaitlynn Mae Parrish was born._


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Sincere apologies for the length of time between updates. I blame chronic eye problems and Microsoft. Please excuse if spacing is wonky. Had to repair and reinstall Word, which messed up my files. The story is complete, and will be posted as chapters are edited. Thank you for your patience and comments! ~ OED_

Chapter 14

"Was it as bad as you thought it would be?"

"Yes," Della nodded. "It was painful for Hannah and for every single person in the courtroom."

"Baby, I –"

"I don't understand why you cross examined her like that," she interrupted quickly, "aside from the fact she had a very good reason to hate her uncle."

"Then mission accomplished?"

She stared out the window for a moment before replying, elbows propped on the ledge, chin resting in her hands. "It's nothing to be proud of, Perry. You destroyed Hannah to save Kaitlynn." Della suspected that for most of her life poor Hannah Hawkes had been destroyed by one thing or another.

"I don't know about that. I thought she was swell. For the record, Hannah knew exactly what I was doing. And also for the record, our client happens to be _**Kaitlynn**_ , not Hannah."

She didn't want to talk about Hannah Hawkes any more. Lately there were a lot of things she didn't want to talk about, and as always he was more than happy to remain quiet about those things."I couldn't believe how much latitude both Judge Macauley and Robert Norrell allowed you in regard to the reputation of Lon Hawkes."

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, primarily to stifle a yawn. "It was a surprise when Judge Macauley overruled the objection to Hannah's statement about Lon Hawkes being a violent man. Did you notice Norrell's frown after he failed to object when Hannah said Kaitlynn didn't kill Lon Hawkes?"

She let out a vocal yawn while he battled to suppress his. "I noticed. If he could have kicked himself, he would have."

He finally gave in to the yawn. "I think he'll receive that kick from the DA himself. Stop yawning."

This time it was she attempting to hold back the inevitable yawn and failing miserably. "You kept me up too late last night."

" _ **I**_ kept _**you**_ up? I didn't start it."

Della had the grace to blush. "Your pacing made me restless." She had come across some interesting information about Sam Wald, the best man and employee of Max Parrish that she hoped would deter Perry from going after Hannah, but all it did was give him another angle of the case to obsessively pace over until she had literally tackled him.

He grinned. "Add to the record I like it when you're restless."

She didn't want to talk about last night almost as much as she didn't want to talk about Gary's overlooked, overshadowed sibling Hannah. If they continued to talk about their private escapades it would only make the remainder of the day unbearably uncomfortable in so many delicious ways, and it wouldn't be in Kaitlynn's best interest for him to be distracted in court. "You might have been able to extract what you wanted from Hannah, but in my opinion it wasn't your best courtroom moment."

"You're not happy with me at all today, are you?" He glanced at his watch. They only had fifteen more minutes of recess remaining, and the conference room they were in was two floors above the courtroom. Sensing how disappointed she was about Hannah's cross examination, he had avoided the Parrish clan by announcing he and Della needed to confer on the next witness. Too bad they couldn't 'confer' the way they had the night before...

"Not in regard to the trial," she replied very softly, eyes lowered. "In other matters I'm extremely happy. Considering what we have on Sam Wald, I hoped you would leave Hannah alone."

"Darling, I didn't enjoy cross examining Hannah. It was something I had to do in order to present the best defense for Kaitlynn, even in light of the information you found on Sam Wald. You of all people should understand that."

Della heaved a huge sigh. "I do understand. But I don't have to like it." She suddenly stood and grabbed her purse from the window ledge. "I need to visit the little girl's room."

"Make it snappy," he called after her. "We have exactly twelve minutes to get back to court."

She turned, snapped her fingers loudly three times, and stuck out her tongue.

* * *

 _They hadn't seen each other in nearly four months and he was nervous anticipating the moment she would walk through the doors of the cocktail lounge. He had arrived fifteen minutes early, freshly showered and shaved; wearing a new navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and paisley silk tie embellished with a gold tie bar._

 _Because she was a sucker for tie bars._

 _He held no illusions that this meeting would be anything but a full stop punctuation mark on their wonderful, messy, painful, joyous twenty-seven year adventure of a life together, and he owed her civility after months of embarrassingly bad behavior. He still didn't understand why she insisted they both should explore other possibilities, and had in fact introduced him to a handsome possibility named Bryce Hummel, so he needed to put his best foot forward._

 _To say he was traumatized by their separation was understatement on a gargantuan scale. He immersed himself in alcohol, which he sincerely believed kept him sane after long days trying to hold emotions in check at work and not let slip anything was amiss, but what it really did was turn him into a raving lunatic – a veritable Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He shouted abominable things from his pulverized soul whenever they spoke; and sometimes she actually shouted back, which she had never done before, ever. She threatened a restraining order when he showed up unannounced at her house for the third time, tanked to the gills, because she didn't answer her phone. He caught the red-eye back to San Francisco with the harshest words she had ever uttered seared into his barely functioning brain._

 _The next day when several fellow judges chastised him for his unkempt appearance and the conspicuous cologne de bourbon that wafted from his person he had to admit he was in trouble._

" _You need a haircut," Her Honor Alice Hemmings critiqued._

" _You need to eat better," Her Honor Martha Johnson recommended._

" _You need a Turkish bath," His Honor Horace Ingraham advised._

" _You need to have that suit pressed," His Honor Alexander Coffey suggested._

" _You need sleep," His Honor Edward Newman counseled._

 _They all meant well, but none of them knew what he really needed: he needed the love of his life._

 _He didn't want to confide in anyone what was happening in his personal life and sincerely appreciated that his descent into slovenliness had been noticed, but not thrilled that despite his best attempts to act as if everything was just dandy he was the topic of gossip for weeks. All of his associates had met the best part of him and socialized with her on many occasions, which is why he was keeping the break-up to himself until she convinced him there was no hope._

 _He stopped drinking, got a haircut, took all his suits to the cleaners, treated himself to a four-star meal, and didn't call her for a week. It was she who broke the silence because she was worried about him. Their conversation was awkwardly pleasant, and for the past four months they had spoken with pleasant awkwardness several times._

 _He was completely alone in the lounge with the bartender, a good-looking young man who was either a college student or an aspiring actor, and who wore an engraved name badge that read 'Troy'. He had spoken innocuously with the young man as he seated himself at the end of a long, curving bar and ordered two Bloody Mary cocktails with pickle and olive garnishes to be served when his companion joined him._

 _She arrived precisely on time, which was late for her. It was Friday, and she had left work to meet him at this relatively early hour of 11:00 a.m., admitting to him she was taking the afternoon off for appointments and errands._

 _Should he give her a quick hug? Innocently peck her on the cheek? Impersonally shake her hand? Take her in his arms and grind her against the bar? He settled for sliding off his stool and pulling out another for her, which she seated herself upon with sublime grace._

 _She was very business-like in a smartly cut brown suit, and ecru collarless blouse, hair pushed behind delicate ears, exposing those incredible cheekbones, her jewelry familiarly old and gold. "Hi." It was the only thing he could say in the face of her beauty._

" _Hello," she replied._

 _Troy placed two tall glasses in front of them and silently withdrew to the middle service station of the bar where he busied himself polishing glassware._

" _Thank you for ordering. This is exactly what the doctor ordered."_

 _He glanced sideways at her, admiring her fine profile. "Tough day?"_

" _No more than usual." She stirred the lusciously spicy cocktail before taking a hearty sip. "It's always hectic when I try to take time off for appointments."_

 _He admired how adroitly she reminded him there was a limit on their time together, letting him know she was in control of the meeting. He was fine with that. "Would you like something to eat?"_

 _She shook her head. "I have a luncheon engagement at one."_

 _A luncheon engagement. It was unlike her to use such a formal phrase, which meant she actually had a 'lunch date' and was trying to spare his feelings. His stomach flip-flopped. She would have a cocktail with him and lunch with Bryce Hummel, the possibilities guy who'd replaced him in her mind, in her heart, and in her...he forced his mind not to finish the thought of where else he may have been replaced. "I'm glad you could work me into your schedule." He almost said 'busy schedule', but thought it might antagonize her._

" _I didn't ask you to meet for small talk," she said a trifle sharply, turning to face him. "Now that we can speak civilly to one another I thought it was time to establish some ground rules."_

" _Ground rules for what?"_

 _She returned her attention to the Bloody Mary, which was two-thirds gone already. "For how we go forward from here...for the...future."_

 _He lifted his index finger ever so slightly and Troy magically appeared with two fresh drinks. "So...we have a future?"_

 _She noisily crunched the pickle from Bloody Mary number one. "We both have futures."_

" _Do you see these futures intersecting at any time?"_

 _She started on Bloody Mary number two. "Perry, nothing has changed."_

 _She had been telling him myriad versions of the same thing for months. She wasn't happy with him and hadn't been for some time. The glimmer of hope he'd subsisted on since agreeing to see her sputtered. "I don't know how to live without you."_

" _You've managed to survive in San Francisco without me for several years." She hoped he understood her pointed response._

" _Surviving isn't living. And I wasn't ever really without you until recently. I love you. I need you." It really was that simple for him. It used to be that simple for her, too._

 _She lowered her eyes. "I don't love you like that anymore, Perry. I'm no longer your secretary or your companion...or whatever I was." It struck her suddenly that in all their years together they had never actually defined exactly what 'they' were. Publically they were employer/employee; to friends and family they were one and the same with no separation: DellaandPerry; privately they were friends and lovers. An argument could be made, which he did often, that they were affianced; Exhibit A his mother's emerald; Exhibit B the antique amethyst; Exhibit C the pinky ring._

" _You were everything." She elevated his life from black and white to vivid Technicolor like Dorothy stepping over the threshold to Oz with just one smile. It had taken a breathtaking ten seconds to fall hopelessly in love with her; two long years to tell her; and twenty-seven exhilarating years to eventually make her unhappy enough to leave._

" _So were you," she admitted quietly. "But the last few years...it wasn't enough. I wasn't happy. Maybe what we had really was just –"_

" _Don't say it –"_

" _The work."_

" _You won't let me make things right," he argued, his temper getting the better of him, his deep voice rising because she'd said it, the one thing he had always been afraid of. "I tried to make things right for five years. I tried to make you happy. Right is you and me, Della. Happy is you and me. I know it was the mistake of all mistakes to serve out Harvey's term. But I made a promise."_

 _Her eyes were bright with tears as she looked at him. "You made a promise to me first," she reminded him._

" _And I kept that promise!" he fairly shouted, her tears distressing him now every bit as much as they ever had._

 _Troy quickly moved further down the bar from them._

" _Maybe we're not talking about the same promise, Perry. Do I need to formally release you from the all the promises you made? You don't owe me anything. It was a hell of a ride...but it's over. If we're honest with one another it was over the moment you accepted serving out Harvey's appointment." She paused. If she was honest with_ _ **herself**_ _, it actually ended the evening she picked up the telephone and spoke to his 'friend' Laura Parrish._

" _I may have bent a couple of promises, but there is one promise I will never, ever break. I love you more than anything in my life, Della Katherine Street." His voice was a husky whisper. "You weren't the first I said that to, but you are the last."_

" _Perry, that promise…the reason behind it doesn't exist anymore. The promise doesn't exist anymore."_

 _He rubbed one hand with the other, the anxious habit she knew so well. "Don't do this, Della."_

 _She idly twirled the pickle of Bloody Mary number two in the dregs of vodka-infused tomato juice. "We need ground rules," she repeated._

" _You said that already." He bobbed his head once and Troy was there with round number three within seconds._

" _We've shared a lot. It won't be easy untangling everything. We need..." she looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right word. "Parameters."_

" _Parameters? Like a contract?"_

 _She cocked her head to the left and tried to focus wavering vision on his oh, so handsome face. "A contract. Yes. A contract would be perfect."_

" _Should we engage an attorney?"_

 _She frowned. "That seems excessive given the fact you_ _ **are**_ _an attorney."_

" _Ah, but an attorney who represents himself is foolish."_

 _She laughed. "Or something like that."_

" _Or something like that," he agreed, signaling Troy, who was quickly at their disposal. "Troy my man, do you know who we are?"_

 _Troy regarded the exceptionally attractive couple seated at the bar with serious blue eyes. "Sir, I recently graduated from the Stanford School of Law and am taking the bar exam next month. I wouldn't be my worth in salt if I didn't know who you are. However, I wouldn't admit it, even under oath."_

 _He scrutinized the young man through the giddy effects of two-and-a-half relatively strong cocktails after having abstained from alcohol for several weeks. "How did you do in contracts?"_

 _Troy stared the renowned attorney in the eye. "Well enough to want to make them my specialty."_

 _The most famous legal secretary in California lifted Bloody Mary number three in a toast as her former employer pulled an expertly fanned stack of cocktail napkins toward him and uncapped the expensive Waterman Safety fountain pen she had given him early in their relationship when he had nearly spoiled everything. "Well, this is certainly a fortunate circumstance. We are in desperate need of a contract attorney." She beckoned Troy to lean closer and jerked her thumb sideways. "He pays very well. I speak from experience."_

 _Troy could barely contain a smile as he indicated the empty cocktail lounge. "I'm at your disposal."_

* * *

Ken Malansky and Gary Hawkes were seated at the Defense table when Perry and Della returned to court, with five minutes to spare.

Ken jumped to his feet. "Perry! We thought you'd never get here."

"I'm here now," Perry replied impatiently. "Have you heard from...what's her name?"

"Rocky," Ken supplied. "No, I haven't been able to get hold of her."

"Ken," Perry growled, "we need to find the girl on that concert pass."

Ken held up his hands. "I know, I know. The bad news is that so far Rocky's club has turned out to be a dud. I've called a dozen times and there is no answer. Either Rocky's not there or the phone is unplugged."

"Have you considered actually dropping by the club to find out?"

Ken's face grew red. "I have," he began defensively, "but there are so many other things...the good news is I think I know what was in that envelope Lon Hawkes was waving around at the wedding."

"Go ahead," Perry said with a hint of sarcasm to his voice, "we're all friends here. You can tell us."

Gary Hawkes pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling, and whistled tunelessly to himself, uncomfortable with the exchange between his fiancée's attorney and the attorney's arrogant associate. He would have liked to tell Perry Mason what they had found out about the bootleg cassette tapes himself but Ken had been adamant that he be the one to deliver the report.

Della sat down and busied herself with making certain documents for the next scheduled witness to be called were in the proper order, unperturbed by a typical conversation between Perry Mason and Ken Malansky.

Ken's face turned almost purple. "It was his wedding present to Gary. One hundred thousand dollars extorted from Kaitlynn's record company, paid by Jake Lubin, head of the record company."

"What!" Della exclaimed, looking up from the paperwork spread out in front of her.

Ken nodded. "That's what Lon probably meant when he said his gift would show everybody he was just as good as Max Parrish. Max and Laura Parrish gave Kaitlynn and Gary _**fifty**_ thousand dollars for a down payment on a house."

Perry stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes steely blue staring at Gary Hawkes, as the young man continued to avoid looking at anyone in particular. No one had mentioned a gift of fifty thousand dollars from Max Parrish. Why did clients never seem to understand when their attorney says he needs to know everything, it means **everything**? "One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. So, we have another motive for murder and another suspect." Perry sat down heavily. "All right you two. Find that girl on the pass before he does."

 _e_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Della handed Perry a fairly thick folder on Sam Wald, the next witness, who was making his way to the witness stand to be sworn in. Kaitlynn peered over her attorney's shoulder and frowned as he methodically scanned the file's contents.

"Gary's sister and now his best friend," she whispered in distress.

Della patted her hand. "Perry's doing his job, Kaitlynn. Everything will be fine." She couldn't tell Kaitlynn what was in the file she had prepared on Sam Wald, that there was a bombshell hidden among the stack of neatly organized papers. It wasn't her place to tell her what it was if Perry hadn't. And it wasn't her place to admit she felt the same as Kaitlynn about Perry's strategy in regard to Hannah.

"I just don't like everyone being publically embarrassed because of me. Especially my father."

"Trust Perry," Della smiled encouragingly. "Everything will be just fine."

Perry had been listening to his client's whispered conversation with Della while pretending to be absorbed in the file, and couldn't help but lift the corners of his mouth in a tiny smile.

"Mr. Mason, you called this witness," Judge Macauley pointed out in his brusquely sarcastic manner. "Do you intend to examine him?"

Perry pushed his chair back slightly from the table. "I do, Your Honor."

"Then I suggest you begin."

Perry slowly got to his feet, not especially appreciating Judge McCauley's sarcasm. "Mr. Wald, you have limited access to the Parrish computer records, do you not?"

Sam Wald appeared at ease on the stand, flawlessly groomed and sporting a pristine gauze bandage on his right hand. "That's right."

Perry pulled a sheet of paper from the file Della had handed him. "According to this log, you accessed the company computer on June 23."

"That was strictly routine. I access the computer on a daily basis."

Perry frowned. "But June 23 wasn't exactly a routine day." June 23 had not been a routine day for thirty-seven years, because it happened to be the day he first met the most intelligent, fascinating, beautiful woman in the world. "June 23 was the day the Parrish financial records were subpoenaed by the State Commission."

Sam Wald studiously picked a speck of lint from his lapel. "Yes, it was."

Perry paused to consult Della's thorough and impeccably typed notes. "Mr. Wald, tell me...how much do you earn as a talent manager?"

"In a good year, um, maybe sixty thousand dollars."

Perry consulted his notes again, eyebrows lifted in surprise over the tops of his reading glasses. "Oh. Do you have a secondary income – perhaps a private income?"

Sam Wald gave a derisive snort. "I wish."

"Mr. Wald, you own a very expensive race car."

"It's second-hand."

"Second-hand. Hmm...Mr. Wald, do you have an account at the Trans World Bank of Chicago?"

Robert Norrell leapt to his feet. "Your Honor, I fail to see the relevance in this line of questioning."

Perry Mason leaned against the Defense table, holding the file folder against his broad chest. "Your Honor, by pursuing the possibility of embezzlement as a motive the Prosecution cleared a path for this line of questioning."

Judge Macauley almost smiled, but not quite. "There is your relevance, Mr. Norrell. Overruled. Continue, Mr. Mason."

"Do you need me to repeat the question, Mr. Wald?"

Sam Wald sat perfectly still in the witness chair. "No, that won't be necessary. I do have an account at the Trans World Bank of Chicago. I used to live in Chicago, after all."

Perry held up his hand. "Would you explain how with an annual income of sixty thousand dollars you made a deposit of two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars on February 20 of this year?"

"I don't recall."

"You don't recall? Has it escaped your attention that Max Parrish was accused of embezzling that very same amount?" He stared steadily at the witness. "Mr. Wald, do you know who really took that money?"

Aside from a slight clearing of the throat, Sam Wald remained cool and collected. "There's no way to know that. The computer records are gone and can't be recovered."

Perry snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right. The computer records _**are**_ gone." He pulled a sheaf of papers from the folder and had to control an urge to shake them at Sam Wald. "But _**these**_ records aren't gone. According to your bank statement, you wrote a check on June 23 for thirty thousand dollars to Mitchell Carter, a computer expert notorious for making records disappear."

Sam Wald cleared his throat again, this time louder. "I don't know anyone named Mitchell Carter."

"Is that really your answer? According to this document, you hired Mitchell Carter because you needed someone who could get to pertinent records and destroy evidence of your embezzlement."

Gary Hawkes' best friend turned red in the face. "That's not true! Max..."

"Max Parrish can't help you," Perry Mason warned. He handed the sheaf of papers to the witness. "Read Mr. Carter's sworn statement. It's all right there...a statement that will be submitted to the State Commission and to this Court. A statement of how Mr. Carter gained access to the Parrish Talent Agency's computer records and of your attempt to conceal a crime. Mr. Wald, when Lon Hawkes turned up at your best friend's wedding waving that envelope, isn't it true you thought it held evidence of your guilt?"

"I have no idea what was in that envelope."

"Didn't you kill Lon Hawkes to protect yourself?" When the witness didn't reply right away Perry let loose his famous courtroom bark. "Answer me!"

Sam Wald nearly jumped out of his shoes. "No! No, I didn't kill Hawkes!"

Witness and Defense stared at one another for several seconds, neither of them blinking. "No, you didn't," Perry Mason finally conceded. "No further questions."

Perplexed by what had just happened, Robert Norrell stood. "Your Honor, the Prosecution requests a recess."

"You may step down, Mr. Wald." Judge Macauley lifted his gavel and banged it against the block. "I'll do better than a recess, Mr. Norrell. Court is adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow morning."

* * *

"How long have you known Uncle Perry?"

Della ushered Kaitlynn Parrish into her dressing room, a former bedroom converted by her friend Evelyn's husband into a luxurious dressing room complete with a walk-in cedar closet. The bedroom had been converted during a major remodel after she and Perry purchased his downtown apartment as well as the unit across the hall when the building 'went condo'. The combined apartments boasted three large bedrooms with full ensuite bathrooms; the dressing room, with two crystal chandeliers and containing the aforementioned cedar closet; an office/den furnished around a particular worn leather chair; and an expansive living room/kitchen/dining great room. It was the first home for either that had dual signatures on the purchase agreement.

"Just about exactly thirty-seven years."

Kaitlynn whistled. "And you never married?"

Della tossed her purse onto a moss green velvet 'fainting' couch and beckoned to Kaitlynn to follow her. "No. We never did."

"Didn't he ever ask you?" Kaitlynn liked Della and felt comfortable asking such a personal question. What an amazing room, she thought, taking in the soft colors and classic furnishings. So like the woman it served.

"Many times." Since Perry was meeting with Max about the developments with Sam Wald and the embezzlement, Della had suggested that she and Kaitlynn have dinner and then 'shop' for a new dress for when the wedding could be rescheduled. She had included Laura Parrish in her invitation, but was surprised when Kaitlynn requested that it be just the two of them.

Relieved was possibly a better word than surprised.

"You never said yes?"

Della didn't answer immediately. "Once," she finally said quietly, hand resting on the glass knob of the closet door. "But it wasn't meant to be. Our relationship wouldn't have survived marriage."

"But you live together," Kaitlynn pressed on. She loved Perry Mason, and had always wanted to know more about him because he was stubbornly reticent about his private life. Mostly what she knew her parents had told her, and their perceptions of the man were divergent to say the least.

"Only for the past six years." It had taken nearly a year for them to gain even footing in their relationship after reuniting during her trial for Arthur Gordon's murder; a year during which they reopened Perry's practice, dealt with family milestones and tragedies, and remodeled her house before selling it. Arguably happier than they had ever been, they vowed this condo would be their 'forever' home. "Times are different."

Kaitlynn pulled a face. "You're as tight-lipped as Uncle Perry."

Della turned away from Kaitlynn and smiled, understanding fully why Perry was so enamored of the young woman. Kaitlynn Parrish was bright and talented, strong and sassy; everything Perry admired in a woman. She swung the closet door open and stepped back. "Welcome to the finest private boutique in Los Angeles. Shop till you drop!"

Kaitlynn entered the closet, jaw slackened in awe of the contents. The entire left wall was lined with every shade, shape, and style of white dress imaginable, while the opposite wall contained gowns in glorious jewel tones, as well as a section devoted to black. An enormous framed mirror took up much of the far wall; and a tufted circular stool upholstered in the same moss green velvet as the fainting couch with a circumference adequate to seat four people centered the room. Shoes and evening bags of every conceivable color were displayed above the beautifully preserved gowns. A smaller version of the chandelier in the outer dressing room hung above the stool.

"Oh...my...gosh," Kaitlynn breathed. "I – I was confused when we came here instead of to a store...but...oh...my...gosh. Where do I start?"

Della swept her arm toward the wall of white dresses with a balletic gesture. "I think you should pull a couple dresses from each decade."

Kaitlynn gulped. "Each _**decade**_?"

Very business-like now, Della advanced toward the expanse of white dresses. "Decade," she nodded. "These dresses range from 1957 to last year."

Kaitlynn kicked off her shoes and headed toward the collection of white dresses, suppressing a joke about perhaps it would be more appropriate to choose from the colorful section, considering she and Gary were physically familiar with one another. "This is unbelievable. Where did they all come from?"

Della hesitated. Should she admit to Kaitlynn Parrish why she owned so many white dresses? Very few people were aware of this spectacular 3-dimensional scrapbook of her life with Perry Mason. "Perry likes me in white. Every year I buy a white dress to celebrate the anniversary of the day we...met."

Kaitlynn lifted a dress from the wooden rod and pressed it against her, hips swaying. It was gorgeous, with a double layer of supple white tulle over a white silk under skirt, the tulle trimmed with shimmering iridescent sequins in a starburst pattern that radiated downward toward the hem. The bodice was heart-shaped, and completely covered by sequins. "Oh," she breathed, an emotional catch to her voice. This dress she liked a hundred times more than the dress her mother had commissioned for her to be married in.

"That's one of my favorites," Della admitted, seating herself on the tufted stool and after accepting the dress from Kaitlynn, draped it lovingly next to her. "Pull the one with the petal bust line...yes, that one...and the embroidered sateen...the chiffon with the front bow...the asymmetrical qiana jersey...the satin with velvet appliques – no, the next one...and the crepe with the beaded bodice. Those will be a good start."

Kaitlynn held an exquisitely beaded dress at arm's length. "Who is Estelle?"

"Hmm?" Della carefully removed a fluffy chiffon dress with a pert bow from its padded hanger.

"Who is Estelle? All but one of the dresses you had me pull has a label that says ' _Estelle_ '."

Della was silent for a few seconds. "Estelle was a beautiful, talented woman. I was honored and fortunate to call her my friend for many years."

"She was a wonderful designer."

"Yes, she was."

"Hey," Kaitlynn said, dropping onto the stool across from Della, "there's a shop downtown called _Estelle by Agatha_. Was that her?"

"Yes. Her partner Agatha inherited the shop when Estelle passed away and kept the business going. Aggie is a good friend, too." Aggie Carpenter's designs weren't quite brilliant plane as her former partner's, but she maintained a decent clientele with the help of new partner Teresa, a talented seamstress. Della to this day purchased a fair amount of clothing from Aggie and Teresa, having learned a lesson from the floral monstrosity bought at another boutique several years ago.

"I've been in that shop! On stage and in my videos I wear leather and animal prints – clothes a stylist chooses to fit my 'image'. In real life I like more classic clothes. Hardly anyone recognizes me in real life." She laughed and indicated the simple pastel suit she wore. "There were photos all over the walls of beautiful dresses..." her eyes widened as she looked at the heavily beaded dress in her hands, to Della, and back to the dress. "You! You were in a picture. I saw this dress...you were a model?"

Della blushed to the roots of her hair. "I helped Estelle out from time-to-time with bookkeeping and when she introduced new collections."

"I have to go back there," Kaitlynn said excitedly. "I'll bet you're in a lot more pictures than the one I remember."

"Aggie and Teresa would be very happy that a young celebrity like you visited their shop."

"I'm totally dropping your name when I go." Kaitlynn pursed her lips and regarded Della thoughtfully. "I'm not very talented, you know. I can sing a little, but I'm no Mariah Carey."

"I think you sell yourself short." Her heart did a flip-flop... _like a certain attorney I know._ "You're much better than Paula Abdul."

Kaitlynn laughed and shook her head. "I've known all along I'm not the most talented singer out there. My talent is performing. Luckily, my songs are well-written and arranged to complement my strengths."

"Play to your strengths," Della agreed. Most people would have said to 'camouflage my weaknesses'. She liked how positively Kaitlynn regarded herself. "That's what successful people do."

"I figure I have maybe two more years before the next big thing comes along. By then I'll be twenty-seven and ready to begin a family. We both want at least four kids. Gary's mother had to work when he and Hannah were kids because his father didn't make much money before my father bought into his talent agency and signed that country-and-western singer Collier Jessup – so Gary would like me to be home with our kids. That's why Gary's so ambitious in his career. He's going to be a famous actor, you know, and eventually a director or producer. He wants to provide well for me and our family. Show business isn't my life's dream like it is Gary's. Having a good marriage and happy kids is my dream."

Della looked at Kaitlynn Parrish with unabashed affection. "I think you will be a wonderful wife and mother. Gary is a good man. You'll have that big family. I know you will."

Kaitlynn flung her arms around Della Street and squeezed tight. "Thank you."

Della hugged the young woman, who in poignant, bittersweet dreams might have been hers and Perry's. "You're welcome. I believe in you, Kaitlynn. You can do anything you set your mind to."

"My mother was a housewife," Kaitlynn continued conversationally. "It wasn't always smooth growing up, but she did her best. I'm not sure she ever wanted to be a mother, so I give her credit for stepping up to the plate."

Della's heart did another flip-flop. Kaitlynn really was so much like Perry...

Kaitlynn laughed. "I sound like Uncle Perry! He always talks like that – stepping up to the plate, hitting it out of the ballpark, pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Has he always talked that way?"

"Yes, he always has. He likes idioms and metaphors, especially about baseball." Della smiled. "Except when I use them."

"He's such a character." Kaitlynn turned so Della could unzip her skirt. "My mother thinks she's in love with him."

Della nearly fell off the stool.

"Of course, you know that," Kaitlynn said matter-of-factly as she shucked her nicely tailored suit without the least bit of self-consciousness and dove beneath the bowed dress Della held out to her.

"Um, Perry doesn't talk much about his friendship with your parents." Della stood and zipped the vintage dress. The bodice would need slight alterations, but Kaitlynn looked adorable in the layers of frothy chiffon. "He and I both have friends we keep to ourselves."

"I love how floaty it is!" Kaitlynn twirled in giddy excitement. "My mother thinks Uncle Perry is my father, doesn't she?"

This time Della did fall off the stool – rather, she missed the stool altogether when she attempted to sit back down.

"Are you okay?" Kaitlynn helped Della to her feet and seated her on the stool, amazed at how gracefully the older woman had tumbled. "He's not. I would know. I'm sensitive to things like that."

"N-no. Perry isn't your father." As uncomfortable as she was with the situation, she knew Kaitlynn deserved an honest answer. She picked up the one-shoulder qiana jersey dress, eyeing it critically. "Maybe this one isn't your style."

"I love it!" Kaitlynn disagreed. "You never know until you try things on." She turned so Della could unzip the chiffon, realizing that while the dress was indeed mostly white, the bow and the second layer of chiffon were the palest blue. Her mother would faint if she chose this dress, which automatically put it on the definite contender list. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Della. I just want you to know what I know, and where I stand."

"Your father is Max," Della said firmly.

"I know that without a doubt. We have the same feet, the same ears, the same digestive system. Neither of us can eat bananas, oranges, or tomatoes." Kaitlynn rubbed her stomach. "But Uncle Perry could have been my father, right?"

Della clutched the cool, smooth, qiana fabric in shaking hands. Maybe it was best to confess, because out of respect for her, Perry would never tell Kaitlynn the truth. "Yes. He could have been."

Kaitlynn dropped down next to Della and hugged her. "Thank you for being honest with me. I've always known there was some deep, dark secret between my mother and Uncle Perry. As I got older and picked up on how she acted around him, I came to the conclusion that they must have had an affair."

Huge tears slid down Della's cheeks. "It was a very difficult time..."

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Del! I'm done asking questions. I know who my father is, and I'm so happy to have Uncle Perry and you in my life." Kaitlynn tightened her hug. "I love my mother to death, but I know she's a dreamer and always will be. Some days her real life is what she wants, and other days she wants her dream life. She loves me, and deep down, she loves my father and knows he's the man she was meant to be with."

Della wiped hot tears with the back of her hand. "You are wise beyond your years, young lady."

"And you," Kaitlynn proclaimed, jumping up and shimmying out of the filmy chiffon, "are one of my favorite people I've ever met. I might like you better than Uncle Perry. Does that make you feel better?"

Della had to laugh. "I've heard that many times," she confided. "Perry is definitely an acquired taste, but he's the best man I've ever known."

Kaitlynn stood before Della in nothing but a slip, hands on hips. "He would have to be if you've been with him for thirty-seven years. And the smartest thing he's ever done is fall for you."

Della took the discarded chiffon and handed Kaitlynn the asymmetrical qiana. Each one of these dresses represented a year spent with the love of her life, the man she couldn't imagine living without. Yes, she looked fabulous in white, but she also knew Perry insisted that she wear white on their anniversary because of its symbolic color. Each year he felt as if they recommitted to their unconventional relationship in the way he fantasized – in wedding attire. She indulged his fancy, regretting that the collection was missing three dresses due to her insistence that he pursue true' happiness with whom she believed to be the mother of his child. What absurd assumptions they had both made over the years.

Della wouldn't tell Kaitlynn about the twists and turns, the highs and lows, the joys and sadness of her life with Perry. All she needed to know was that they loved each other and loved her, exactly how they dealt with their introductions to Kay-Kay Baynum and Paul Drake, Jr., not to mention the countless other youngsters they'd encountered over the years.

Kaitlynn observed her reflection critically. "You were right. This isn't my style. Makes me look like an ironing board. I'm shorter than you and flatter in the chest. I bet you looked fabulous in it."

"It did look different on me. I think we need to stick to full skirts with tight bodices or simple straight skirts with jackets."

The qiana quickly lay at Kaitlynn's feet in a puddle. "Let me try that divine petal neckline next. Thank you for this, Della. I was really stressed out about getting a new dress. Especially since I didn't like my original dress."

"You didn't? I thought it was...unique."

Kaitlynn wrinkled her nose. "You can say it. It was uniquely _**horrible**_ **.** Actually, the dress wasn't that bad, but the overskirt weighed four thousand pounds and swallowed me alive. And those gloves! Mother insisted I wear them, even though they were two sizes too big. I looked like a kid playing dress-up, but she had it designed for me for publicity so I had to wear it."

"Then I hope somewhere in here we'll find a dress you like."

"Are you kidding? I like them all! What I want is to try on a dress and just _**know**_...you know? I want to cry and for Gary to be blown away."

Yes, she knew. Every dress in the closet was a dress she just _**knew**_ would blow Perry away.

* * *

 _He disembarked the plane, made his way to the private parking lot of the charter service, and claimed his Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. The big car nearly piloted itself, magically stopping at a favorite tavern with a prized parking space by the front door._

 _Such good parking spaces were rare indeed. And he was thirsty._

 _He couldn't do it. He couldn't take the fabulous parking space, because he wouldn't let alcohol take over his life again. Previously he had used alcohol to numb his pain, and it had only gotten him in trouble. She had finally convinced him there was no hope, that she was happier without him, that she wanted him to find happiness in the 'normal' life he'd wanted all along. He still didn't know what that meant because all she could tell him was that it was for the best, but he was foggy on who exactly it was best for._

 _The apartment was loudly silent and chilly from the incessant fog of San Francisco, and there was no food in the refrigerator aside from week-old Chinese take-out and something wrapped in foil he was afraid to open. It was too late to eat, too early to go to bed, and too foolish to call her considering the terms of their brand-new contract._

 _He couldn't afford to be foolish anymore where she was concerned. The small stack of napkins in his suit coat pocket would help with that. Monday he would make copies of the napkins then go to the bank and put them in his safety deposit box._

 _He stood in front of the TV set, feet set far apart, arms crossed over his chest. He preferred movies to television shows, which was ironic given who his landlady was, but hadn't rented a movie in ages, and the movies he owned, favorites like 'Top Gun', 'Mister Roberts', 'Some Like it Hot', 'Smokey and the Bandit', and a collection of Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies didn't appeal to him either right now._

 _Reading was out. He wouldn't be able to concentrate in the roaring silence. Besides, the only reading material he had were legal journals because it was Della who made sure he read for pleasure. She was always trying to make him relax, and he had to admit that Louis L'Amour held his interest, as did Clive Cussler. He read 'Raise the Titanic' over and over, and could recite passages from memory. His worn hard cover copy was in the barrister book case across the living room, but even the exploits of Dirk Pitt wouldn't ease the pain of losing so much of his life._

 _Unable to be in the achingly silent apartment a moment longer, he decided to walk in the fog to a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away. Eating alone in a restaurant was not unusual for him, and several fine establishments knew him so well he didn't even have to formally order. This particular restaurant would literally meet him at the door with a glass of Chianti and a plate of spaghetti._

 _ _Not caring how he looked, he jerked open the door and almost flattened his landlady, who was standing with hand poised to knock. He grabbed her before she fell backward. "Bird! I didn't know you were here."__

 _Robin 'Bird' Calhoun steadied herself against her tenant's impressive chest and fluffed already fluffy blonde hair. "I should have knocked right away. I've been standing here almost since you got home. How did it go with Miss Street?"_

 _He looked down at the petite, excessively curvy television actress, the only person in San Francisco who knew of his true difficulties with Della, due to thin walls and late night shouting matches on the telephone. "I believe I lost my most important case."_

" _That's too bad. I was pulling for you." To lose, she secretly thought. She had always considered the revered Miss Street unworthy of His Honor's undying affection, but would never have told the man. He deserved so much more than what that self-centered woman could give him, which she would never say to his face. Speaking her mind in regard to Della Street could turn him away, and she very much wanted him to turn toward her for comfort. More than anything she wanted that, and had waited patiently for weeks for the fractured relationship to finally break apart._

" _I – I was just going to get something to eat."_

 _Robin gave him her most sympathetic look, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his chest. He was a sad, lost puppy. "I might have something you'll like."_

 _She took his hand and led him silently into her overly furnished, overly warm apartment._

 _It turned out she did have something he liked._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 _She did her best to sober up in the cab ride to her house, where Bryce was waiting for her with lunch. She hoped he wouldn't be too upset about her being late, and that Troy had been successful in getting a message to him before he left his office._

 _It was difficult to assess if her jumbled emotions were fueled by alcohol, excitement, or distress; or possibly equal parts of all three. It was apparent she couldn't be with Perry anymore, not after discovering about Laura Parrish and her –_ _ **their**_ _– daughter Kaitlynn; and while Bryce stirred yearnings on a level only Perry had ever managed to stir, their simmering attraction ebbed and flowed. Maybe now that she was unencumbered it would flow freely. She had given up a lot to be unencumbered._

 _Bryce was seated on the stoop, a cardboard box containing several take-out oyster pails of Chinese food next to him. He stood and impersonally kissed her cheek, outwardly unaware of how she staggered up the walkway. "You aren't as late as your message said you'd be."_

" _All the stop lights cooperated," she replied, inserting the key with difficulty and opening the door._

" _I have Chinese from Chan's. It should still be hot. You're not very late."_

 _She flashed a smile. Was it her imagination, or did he seem nervous? Well,_ _ **she**_ _was nervous, so..."I'm sure it'll be fine."_

" _Would you like to eat right away? Are you hungry?" Bryce followed on her heels into the kitchen of the large Cape Cod._

" _In a few minutes. Why don't we officially say hello then put out the food?"_

" _Oh, sure." Bryce set the box down on the counter and took her into his arms. His kiss was tentative at first, then as she leaned into him, decidedly hot, then cold in an instant when he suddenly broke the embrace. "We should put out the food."_

 _Disoriented by his odd behavior and three cocktails on an empty stomach, she pulled plates from the cupboard and silverware from a drawer. She might have set the plates and forks down more emphatically than intended because Bryce jumped. "What's going on, Bryce?"_

 _He moved involuntarily away from her a few steps. "What do you mean?"_

" _I mean, you're acting like a nervous teenager. Aren't you going to ask me how it went with Perry?"_

" _Eventually..."_

 _She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "Really? Is that all you have to say?" When he didn't reply, she began tapping her foot impatiently. "We discussed what was going on with Perry today. You asked if I would like to take the afternoon off, have lunch, and spend the rest of the day together. I thought that meant..." her voice trailed off. What had she thought? That he was sensitive to her feelings about ending a very important part of her life and wanted her to be in private, familiar surroundings while he comforted her and possibly took their own relationship a step forward? Possibly multiple steps forward; possibly steps toward the bedroom?_

" _Maybe I didn't...maybe there has been a misunderstanding."_

" _A misunderstanding? What kind of misunderstanding?" Oh Lord. Three cocktails, two pickles, and seven olives churned sickeningly in her stomach._

" _A big misunderstanding."_

 _She stared at him. He refused to meet her eyes. "How big?" Her voice devoid of inflection._

" _I didn't want to tell you this way, Del. I wanted us to have a nice lunch, discuss what went on with Perry, and then..."_

" _And then you'd punch me between the eyes?"_

" _You have every right to be mad –"_

" _Of course I have every right to be mad! Yesterday you told me you loved me."_

" _I did," he affirmed. "And I meant it. I mean it. I do love you."_

" _I feel a big_ _ **but**_ _coming."_

 _He had the decency to meet her gaze. "I'm engaged."_

 _She barely made it to the powder room before three cocktails, two pickles, and seven olives came back up. Bryce, the cad, remained in the kitchen while she emptied her stomach several times over, swished her mouth with mouthwash, splashed water on her flushed face, and waged a major skirmish with tears. When she re-entered the kitchen, completely sober, but with a raging headache, he was sitting at the table, head in hands. He didn't look up._

" _I'm sorry," he finally said. "This isn't how I imagined today playing out."_

 _She took a seat across from him, too far away to be touched. It certainly wasn't how she had imagined the day, either. "Tell me about your fiancée'. I'm dying of curiosity."_

 _He heaved a deep sigh, either not recognizing or ignoring her sarcasm. "Her name is Pat. We met at a Gordon Foundation Fundraiser. We've been together for nearly three years, and I asked her to marry me a year ago."_

 _Wasn't that just ducky. "May I ask why you failed to mention her before today?"_

" _She and I began arguing about everything once we became engaged. When I met you, we hadn't seen each other in weeks." He heaved another huge sigh. "She wants to move to San Francisco to be close to her parents after we're married, and I don't want to leave LA. They've lived there for over fifty years, all their friends and family are there, and her mother isn't in good health."_

 _Della clapped her hands. "I have the perfect solution for that! We'll introduce Pat to Perry. He can stay in San Francisco with her and you can stay in LA with me."_

 _Bryce raised his head and gave her a dark look. "That's not funny."_

" _I disagree. It's hysterical. All this time you've been listening to me talk about my relationship with Perry, and you've been in almost the same boat."_

" _Del, I made a promise."_

 _She laughed, a harsh, reality-bites-you-in-the-ass laugh. "I've heard **that** before."_

" _Last night Pat showed up at my apartment unannounced. Her parents are willing to move to LA so we can take care of them. Del, I've never felt the way I feel about you, but I love Pat too, and I gave her a ring. I need to keep my promise."_

" _Then I guess you need to take your lousy Chinese and keep your promise." She stood quickly, nearly knocking over the oak Windsor chair. "On second thought, leave the lousy Chinese. It's not a ring, but I deserve to get_ _something_ _out of whatever our relationship was."_

 _He tried to take her in his arms but she pushed him away. "I didn't think her parents would ever leave San Francisco. I'm sorry."_

" _I'm sorry, too."_

 _His expression was filled with sorrow. "I will always miss you."_

" _That's a healthy start to the rest of your life."_

 _When he was gone, when the big house was silent, she sat on the bottom step of the stairs, a stack of cocktail napkins held in shaking hands. After a few moments the napkins fluttered to the floor, and she began to weep._

* * *

Perry slid under the covers, lining up his long frame with hers. "Did you and Kaitlynn stay out of trouble tonight?"

"We managed to evade the authorities."

"So what was the top secret mission you two were on? Her mother was very curious."

Della stiffened. "You saw Laura?"

"Laura was very put out and the only way Max could calm her down was to bring her out with us." It dawned on him too late that he probably shouldn't have mentioned dining with Laura.

"Kaitlynn is wise beyond her years." She wasn't sure she liked the fact that Laura Parrish had dinner with Perry, with or without Max Parrish present.

Perry kissed the back of her neck and pulled her closer. "She's also intuitive."

"Yes, she is."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

She turned in his arms to face him. "I'll tell you one thing about Kaitlynn if you tell me one thing about Laura."

"Deal. I'll go first. Laura is jealous of your friendship with Kaitlynn."

Della took a deep breath. "Kaitlynn knows about you and her mother."

Perry propped himself up on an elbow. "Good Lord. Did you actually tell her?"

"She figured it out herself. I merely confirmed it."

"Della, really..."

"Perry, she deserves to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Max is her father, despite the fact they have the same ears and feet."

"Why did she ever doubt it?"

"She never doubted it, but she recognized at a very young age how her mother flirted with you, and that there was something running beneath the surface between the two of you. Even though she knows Max is her father, she needed someone to finally say it out loud."

"Sure, but - "

She snuggled closer to him with a contented sigh. "Don't 'but' me, Perry. Kaitlynn is an adult and can handle the truth."

The phone rang and Perry nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt around on the bedside table for the offending instrument. "This better be good," he growled into the receiver. Della, rudely displaced from his embrace, rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

"Perry!" Ken Malansky shouted and Perry jerked the receiver away from his ear. "I found the girl in the closet! Her name is Suzy Richards."

Perry sat up and ran his hand through his hair. "What? You found the girl? She's okay?" He listened for several moments. "Get security for her. We need her. I'll see you in the morning."

Della yawned. "Ken found the girl we bumped into at the wedding?"

Perry hung up the phone and gathered her into his arms again. "Finally. She was almost run down by a car outside of Rocky's club, which means Ken found her just in time because someone else also figured out she's the missing piece of the puzzle."

She patted his chest. "Shouldn't you talk to her right now?"

"No. Right now I'm going to kiss the most intelligent, understanding, woman in the world good night."

"Mr. Mason, flattery will get you..."

"Everything?"

"Just about. But seriously, darling, shouldn't you...

"Della, if I've learned anything at all in our years together, it's that when I have you in my arms, I should not let you go."

"The alarm is set for six. Will that be enough time to take the girl's statement before court reconvenes? Do you need to pace?"

He laughed heartily and covered her mouth with his. Lord, there was no one in the world he enjoyed as much as Della Street.

* * *

 _Laura Cavanaugh Robertson sat in a metal chair, hunched and defeated, weeping quietly. He entered the room and set his briefcase down on the table next to her._

" _You're still here?" Laura peeked at him through splayed fingers._

" _Our plane leaves in an hour."_

 _She recognized the significance of him saying 'our' instead of 'my' despite a crushing burden of self-pity, and raised her tear-stained face to him. "I was sure with you representing Glenn he wouldn't be convicted, and I was right."_

" _I didn't...I didn't want things to turn out this way, Laura."_

" _I know. And you know I had no intention of killing Luke Dixon."_

" _Yes," he said heavily, "I know." Discovering the photo of her holding Glenn's gold cigarette case had been a punch in the gut. Even more of a gut-punch was that Della had realized the significance of the photo days earlier and had tried to tell him about it. But he hadn't listened. Nostalgic reverie into what had once been clouded his thoughts when they should have been crystal clear as to what was._

" _He would have ruined everything. Everything I've worked so hard for all these years." Everything that would have come years sooner had Perry not stubbornly stayed in Los Angeles to defend criminals and play footsie with his secretary. His charm and charisma had been her ticket to swift greatness. She had settled for Glenn's plodding steadfastness, so much like Della Street's alongside the force that was Perry Mason, thinking his father's reputation would advance her ambitions, but she was never able to emerge from under the elder Robertson's shadow. At this stage in life she had nearly surrendered her political aspirations when Senator Hyland unexpectedly passed away._

" _I know that, too."_

" _But you're still disappointed in me," she pouted. She knew when she'd stepped across lines with him, when he was upset with or disappointed in her. They would argue savagely, then engage in almost brutal sex. It was exhilarating and she could never get enough of him. No one before or since, and there had been several combatants, had ever satisfied her the way Perry Mason had._

" _It doesn't matter what I think, Laura. I already told Glenn that any competent lawyer will be able to prove it was an accident. I also told him I'll consult in your defense, but I won't be your primary attorney." He lingered awkwardly. "I should be going now."_

" _I guess I deserve that," she said contritely, and sighed. "Last time it was my plane leaving."_

 _He pulled her to her feet, gently stroked her cheek, and kissed the back of her hands. She watched him silently pick up his briefcase and head for the door. Damn him for abandoning her when she needed him most. She wanted to scream at him, throw another shoe and fight the way they once had, to experience again the ravening desire she held for no other man._

 _He turned when he reached the door. "Did we ever laugh together, Laura?"_

 _Consumed with anger and desire, she didn't really hear his question. "What?"_

" _Did we ever laugh? Did we share jokes, kid each other, watch a comedy movie together?"_

 _What on earth was he talking about? She shrugged. "I guess we did."_

" _Do you remember any?"_

" _Do I remember any what?"_

" _Jokes," he prompted impatiently. "Do you remember any jokes we shared?"_

" _Do you mean like 'a priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into a bar...?"_

 _He briefly hung his head and when he looked at her again his eyes were deeply sorrowful. "Never mind. Goodbye, Laura."_

 _He found her on the front steps, shivering in the cold air, resplendent in her new white coat. How could what was essentially a non-color flatter her so? He imagined to passersby she looked beautiful, albeit uncomfortable and worried, because to his discredit, he only noticed it as the Bailiff led a stunned Laura Robertson from the courtroom. Her face and eyes were so expressive. He should have seen it sooner._

 _What had he said to Laura – don't make this more difficult...what a dolt he was. How difficult had he made it for Della by not treating her with the same care and concern as he showed a former lover on the witness stand?_

 _This woman in white, this incredible woman who had stood beside him for so many years, deserved much more than he had given her since running into Laura at the fundraiser. He had shamefully known for three days before flying to Denver that she would be in the same hotel at a different function but hadn't mentioned it to Della. Why he felt the need to see her again was a mystery until now: he needed to see Laura Cavanaugh Robertson for what she really was. And he finally had._

 _She knew he was behind her. She always knew when he was near. Her hands dove more deeply into the pockets of the soft wool coat. New. White. And he hadn't noticed. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other._

" _Della," he said, his deep voice free of the darkness that had covered it recently._

" _Yes?"_

 _His arm slid around her shoulders and pulled her snugly to him. "Let's go home_."

* * *

Perry and Della met with Suzy Richards, her parents, and Ken Malansky at eight o'clock in a conference room at the courthouse. At eight forty-five, all but Perry and Della emerged from the conference room and made their way to a witness room adjacent to the courtroom where Judge Macauley presided over the People v. Kaitlynn Parrish. If anyone were to catch a glimpse at the inside of the room as Ken Malansky held the door open, they would have seen the great Perry Mason pacing back forth while gesturing and orating, his trusted associate Della Street watching him with big eyes, and a surprising attendee listening intently to everything he said.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"The Defense calls Dave Tynen," Perry Mason announced.

The Court Clerk administered the oath to Dave Tynen, the second-to-last person on the Defense's witness list, in a nasally clipped voice. The last witness, slotted in as 'To Be Named Later', had been identified an hour before court convened. Dave Tynen's testimony should corroborate that of Frank Bossit, but Perry also had a few surprising tidbits to reveal about the two security guards.

"Mr. Tynen, you were employed as a security guard at the Parrish wedding along with Frank Bossit were you not?"

Dave Tynen sat ramrod straight in the witness chair. "Yes, sir."

"Mr. Tynen, are you left-handed?"

"No, sir."

Perry stroked his jaw. "Did you serve two years at Centennial Correctional Facility for assault?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did time. Anyone can find that out."

"And while you were there, did you box on the prison team?"

Dave Tynen sat up straighter, if that was possible. "Sure."

"I understand you won all your bouts; that your biggest asset was the ability to knock a man out with either hand."

"Yeah. I was a good fighter," the witness admitted with pride.

Perry swiveled back and forth in his chair, fingers tented beneath his chin. "Lon Hawkes was at Centennial with you, wasn't he?"

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the spectator gallery.

Dave Tynen ran his finger around his collar, loosened his tie. "I don't know. He might have been."

"You don't know? In fact, Mr. Tynen, wasn't Lon Hawkes on your cell block, and when he recognized you at the Parrish wedding, you panicked and knocked him out, did you not?

"I knocked him out because he was making trouble. That's what I was paid to do." He relaxed a bit, satisfied with his answer.

"Mr. Tynen, in order to hit Lon Hawkes on the right side of the jaw you had to use your left hand, did you not?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember." Perry repeated. "After knocking Hawkes out, didn't you stab him to death with that same left hand?"

Dave Tynen sat forward. "Not me, Mr. Mason. I was in the hallway the whole time Lon Hawkes was in the study. Frank Bossit was in the hallway with me the entire time. If you don't believe me, ask him."

Perry smiled. "Your Honor, I'd like to recall Frank Bossit at this time."

Robert Norrell's face was expressionless. Let the washed-up old lawyer toss out as many red herrings as he wanted. He had multiple witnesses who saw Kaitlynn Parrish standing over the dead body of Lon Hawkes holding a bloody knife in her left hand, and the great Perry Mason himself heard Miss Parrish say she could kill her fiancé's uncle. "No objection."

Frank Bossit stood aside to allow Dave Tynen to take a seat in the gallery then walked slowly toward the witness stand.

"You are still under oath," Judge Macauley reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah," Bossit said dismissively.

"Mr. Bossit," Perry Mason began, "you heard Dave Tynen's testimony?"

"That's right. Me and him was out in the hallway the whole time."

Perry paused to consult notes. "Neither of you took a break?"

"Nope. We was there the whole time."

"How well do you know Dave Tynen?"

"Met him that one time at the Parrish wedding. Haven't seen him since."

Perry doodled on the notes in front of him for a few seconds. "Mr. Bossit, did you buy some expensive stereo equipment two days ago?"

Frank Bossit licked his lips. "Yeah. So?"

"How did you pay – cash or credit?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Witness will answer the question," Judge Macauley directed sharply.

"I spoke to the company where you bought the equipment and the manager said you paid cash."

Frank Bossit licked his lips again. "Yeah. Used my savings."

Satisfied with his doodle, Perry sat back. "I have no further questions at this time, Your Honor, but reserve the right to recall Mr. Bossit."

"Redirect, Your Honor!" Robert Norrell jumped to his feet and approached the witness stand. "Mr. Bossit, I don't want the Defense to confuse the real issue at hand with stereo equipment. You and Dave Tynen were continuously on duty in the hallway outside the study. Is that correct?"

Frank Bossit smirked at Perry Mason. "Yeah. We was."

"And until the Defendant entered the study you saw no one else go in. Is that correct?"

The smirk broadened. "Yeah. That's correct."

It was Robert Norrell's turn to smirk. "Thank you, Mr. Bossit. I have no further questions, Your Honor."

Perry Mason slowly and deliberately got to his feet, expression passive. "Your Honor, Defense calls Miss Suzy Richards."

Bright-eyed and confident at the tender age of sixteen, Suzy Richards emerged from the witness room and placed her hand on the Bible to take her oath. She fidgeted on the witness stand, big brown eyes taking in what she thought was the most exciting thing she had ever experienced, including a Kaitlynn Parrish concert.

Perry smiled at the excited girl. "Miss Richards, have we met before?"

Suzy's eyes sparkled as she grinned. "Well, we bumped into each other once."

"And when we bumped into each other, did you drop something?"

"I must have dropped my souvenir backstage pass..." she looked at the frowning judge. "Yes, I dropped my souvenir backstage concert pass."

Perry walked to the evidence table, picked up the pass, and held it in the air. "I'm holding Defense exhibit G, found by Miss Della Street at the Parrish residence in the hallway where you bumped into us. Is this your souvenir pass?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell us, Suzy, how did you happen to attend the Parrish wedding?"

Suzy fidgeted, sat on her hands, bounced her legs, chewed her lip. "Well, I sorta snuck in."

"Where did you go once you 'sorta' snuck in?"

"Well, there was a closet in the hallway. I hid in there."

Perry placed the pass back on the exhibit table and made his way to the Defense table. "From your vantage point in this closet, could you see out into the hallway?"

"When I opened the door a crack I could."

"Why would you do that? Couldn't you have been caught?"

"I kept saying to myself I can't believe I'm missing everything. I mean, Kaitlynn Parrish was getting married and I'm trapped in a closet, you know? But, um, I couldn't get out because those two security guys were standing there." She pointed to Frank Bossit and Dave Tynen in the spectator gallery.

"But you did eventually get out of the closet."

Suzy relaxed against the back of the witness chair. "Well yeah, eventually. I don't know exactly when, but it was right after somebody made an announcement."

Perry leaned a hip against the Defense table. "What kind of announcement?"

"I think it was Kaitlynn's father saying he was sorry everything was delayed and then some boring music started and that's when I got out."

"And bumped into me and Miss Street," Perry smiled.

Suzy grinned. "Yeah."

Perry's smile faded. "But weren't the two guards there to stop you?"

Suzy slid down in the witness chair. "Nooo, uh-uh, they were _**gone**_."

"Did you see where they went?"

"Hey, all I knew was they were _**gone**_ and I got out of there."

Perry nodded with satisfaction and Suzy grinned again. "Your witness, Mr. Norrell."

Robert Norrell scratched his chin, looking a bit perplexed. "No questions."

Perry straightened. "Defense recalls Frank Bossit."

The security guard sighed and advanced toward the witness stand, waved at the judge. "I know...I'm still under oath."

"Mr. Bossit, you testified that you and Dave Tynen never left the hallway, yet Suzy Richards was able to sneak out of a closet in that hallway because neither of you were there."

"Okay, okay, so we was gone for a couple minutes. It was hot and we was thirsty."

"During the time you were gone, the study was unguarded."

"Yeah, I suppose. Yeah."

Perry picked up a narrow brown document folder from the Defense table, walked to the witness stand, and handed it to Frank Bossit. "What do you think this folder holds, Mr. Bossit?"

"How would I know? I ain't got ESP."

"Please, just tell us what you think it holds."

"What are you tryin' to get me to say – that it's full of cocaine?"

"I'm trying to get you to say what it feels like."

Frank Bossit squeezed the envelope a couple times, brows knitted in concentration. "It feels like money."

Perry took the document folder from Frank Bossit and handed it to the judge, who opened it and dumped a pile of money onto the bench. There was excited whispering from the spectator gallery.

"You knew Lon Hawkes. You knew the envelope he carried held money because you picked it up."

Frank Bossit licked his lips over and over. "You can't prove there was money in that envelope! It's gone. Whatever was in it, that's gone, too."

Perry regarded the witness with steely eyes. "Mr. Bossit, Lon Hawkes _**was**_ carrying money that day. In fact, he was carrying one-hundred thousand dollars."

Robert Norrell loudly tapped a pencil on the People's table. "Objection! That's pure conjecture since the envelope has never been found."

Perry turned to face Judge Macauley. "Your Honor, I was about to prove it."

Eyeing the pile of money in front of him, Judge Macauley nodded. "You may continue, Mr. Mason."

"Mr. Bossit, if a man stole that kind of money, you'd expect him to lay low for a while, and not call attention to himself, would you not?"

"Yeah, I-I-I suppose so."

"The man who stole that money was tempted to spend just a little of it, wasn't he? Maybe on a new stereo. Why don't you tell us about it, Mr. Bossit?"

Frank Bossit sat forward belligerently. "Tell you what? I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Perry mimicked the belligerence of the witness by leaning forward himself. "I'm talking about how you and Dave Tynen, two men who barely knew each other, conspired to murder Lon Hawkes. Dave Tynen had good reason to want Hawkes out of the picture, and once you told him about the money, it helped push him over the edge."

"No! No!"

Perry continued relentlessly, clear now on the circumstances surrounding the murder of Lon Hawkes. "The two of you entered the study, maybe only wanting to take the money, but Hawkes was awake, wasn't he? He struggled. You karate-chopped him across the throat with your right hand, Dave Tynen stabbed him with his left hand, and when you found out there was a witness, Suzy Richards, you stalked her and tried to kill her."

Frank Bossit half-lifted himself from the witness using just his arms. "You can't prove it! You can't prove anything!"

Perry Mason pivoted toward the bench. "Your Honor, referring to our conference this morning, we can proceed with the demonstration."

Judge Macauley nodded, and for the first time his dour face held an expression of interest. "Bailiff, you may proceed as discussed."

The Bailiff nodded and began lowering blinds on the windows.

Perry turned back to Frank Bossit on the witness stand. "Lon Hawkes extorted one-hundred thousand dollars from Starfront Records, Kaitlynn Parrish's record company. The FBI handled the pay-off. Neither Hawkes nor his killers knew the FBI had treated the money with invisible dye. The lights, Your Honor."

"Bailiff, the lights."

Spectators oohed and aahed as the courtroom went dark.

"Anyone who has had recent contact with that treated money would still have dye on his hands, which will show up under a black light." Ken Malansky appeared at his side and handed him a battery-powered black light. "A black light like this one, Mr. Bossit. Let's see your hands."

Frank Bossit slowly turned his hands in the purple beam of the light. His palms flared with reactive dye.

Dave Tynen leapt to his feet and jumped over the bar into open court. "Bastard!" he yelled. "You just had to spend it, didn't ya?"

The enraged man lunged toward the witness stand. Perry tackled him like an NFL linebacker, coming up grimacing and holding his shoulder.

Frank Bossit, cowering in the witness stand shouted, " _ **You**_ killed him! All I did was steal the envelope!"

The Bailiff handcuffed a prone Dave Tynen while the Court Clerk took hold of Perry Mason's uninjured arm and escorted him away from the fracas. Ken Malansky pushed his way through court officers to catch up to Perry Mason. "Are you okay?"

"Perry!"

Through pain and pandemonium in the courtroom, Perry could hear Della's anguished cry. "Ken, take care of Della. Tell her I'm all right."

"But..." Ken began to protest.

"Take care of Della," Perry barked, "and get everyone back to the office."

Della had skirted the Defense table and made it as far as the witness stand before Ken managed to grab her. "Perry's okay, Della. He wants us all to go to the office."

Della whirled on him, ready to fight her way to the man she loved, but the judge had other ideas.

"Mr. Malansky," Judge Macauley shouted, "does Defense request that this case be dismissed?"

"Defense does, Your Honor," Ken shouted back as someone finally turned the lights back on, at the ready to duck if Della took a swing at him.

"Mr. Norrell, do the People have any objections?" Robert Norrell shook his head and Judge Macauley banged his gavel emphatically, surveying the mass of confusion and excitement that had once been his dignified courtroom. "Case dismissed, court is adjourned."

Kaitlynn flung herself into Gary's arms, Laura hugged Hannah; and then Gary hugged his sister, while Kaitlynn held tightly onto her father.

Della wrested her arm from Ken's firm grip and pointed her finger beneath his nose. "Don't you _**ever**_ do anything like that again," she warned. "I will not be kept away from Perry."

"He told me..."

"I don't care what _**he**_ told you. _**I'm**_ telling you don't ever do it again."

Ken gulped. He had never seen Della so angry before. "I will never do it again."

"Better not," Della grumbled, heading back to the Defense table.

After the lights came back on, the courtroom emptied quickly, leaving only Kaitlynn, Gary, Hannah, Max, and Laura in the gallery. As Ken rounded them up and explained what Perry had instructed, Della shoved papers into her briefcase and Perry's. Laura Parrish separated herself from her family and leaned over the bar.

"Della..."

Startled, Della turned. She had been so concerned about Perry, and so angry with Ken she forgot about everyone else. "Laura..."

The cool blonde briefly touched Della's arm. "Please tell Perry I owe him so much. He's given me back my daughter."

"You can tell him yourself later at the office." She didn't like Laura Parrish for several reasons aside from what had happened in 1967, and was suspicious of the woman's outward sincerity.

Laura shook her head. "I-I can't tell him. He won't take it for anything but...there is so much you don't know about me and Perry."

Della snapped Perry's bulging briefcase shut. "Oh Laura, I know more than you could possibly imagine."

Suspicion and curiosity overrode sincerity. "What do you know?"

"Enough to say you can and have told Perry plenty over the years. Thanking him for representing Kaitlynn shouldn't be that difficult."

Laura blinked, not expecting the hint of hostility in Della Street's voice. "I'm trying to be civil..."

"Let's hang on to that, Laura. We can be civil to one another because there is so much about me and Perry that _**you**_ don't know."

* * *

" _How long does it take to have a baby?" He asked irritably, checking his watch for the hundredth time. "We've been here for six hours, after a two-hour plane ride, and they kicked us out of Michelle's room three hours ago."_

 _They were sitting side-by-side on a couch so uncomfortable they competed to see who could come up with the most descriptive word or phrase for it. She patted his hand. "It takes as long as it takes, dear."_

 _He stared at her. "That makes no sense at all."_

" _Yes, it does. There is no set time for labor and delivery. The baby is born when the baby is born."_

" _There should be a time limit," he grumbled, still not satisfied with her answer. "I haven't been able to concentrate since Paul called."_

" _And don't I know it. I'm glad there isn't anything important going on at the moment. Answering mail doesn't require much brain power, and is something we can do away from the office. Although, my shorthand has gotten rusty since you started taping dictation."_

" _How can you be so calm?" He was on to her sneaky ways of trying to distract him._

 _She stifled a laugh. He was a wreck, and his anxiety increased each hour that passed with no baby. They were both excited beyond words that Paul had managed to finish not only one, but three wildly successful crime novels in as many years; marry his soul mate Michelle; and was now perched on the precipice of fatherhood._

" _I can be calm because there is no reason to be a gigantic pain in the keister."_

" _A gigantic pain, eh?"_

 _She stretched and shifted positions on the cement slab of a couch. "Uh huh."_

" _I seem to recall someone being a pain in the keister when we woke up to rain on their wedding day."_

" _That was different. The bride and groom refused to set up an 'in case of rain' location because as the song goes, it never rains in California. We were looking at buying a lot of umbrellas to keep dressed up guests dry."_

 _It was his turn to stifle a laugh, remembering seeing her frazzled for the first time_ _ **ever.**_ _Of course, after a few phone calls she moved the entire wedding to the Sayers estate, which offered extensive gardens and a gazebo with a glass roof that was large enough to keep all those dressed up guests dry, but was surrounded by enough nature to please the bride and groom._

" _Flintstone couch." She pulled her legs up and tucked them to the side. "This couch is carved from granite."_

" _Then shouldn't it be Perry Mason couch?"_

 _She lifted one eyebrow. "Explain."_

" _Don't you remember how reporters used to describe me?"_

 _Of course! "Features carved out of granite. I'd almost forgotten that. I took it as your features were perfectly chiseled."_

" _I think I just won," he proclaimed, uncomfortable with her compliment as per usual._

" _I think you just changed the subject."_

" _And you haven't been changing the subject all day?_

" _Only to maintain my sanity, you gigantic –"_

" _Hey you two. Could you maybe stop arguing long enough to meet your first grandchild?" Neither Paul nor Michelle had parents, and had agreed that Perry and Della would be called Grandma Del and Grandpa Pare; Del and Pare being what he had called them as a youngster._

 _They jumped up in perfect synchronization from the torturous couch. He made it to Paul's side in three long strides. Her strides were greater in number, but as always, paced him perfectly._

 _Paul was grinning from ear-to-ear, blonde curls sticking out comically from beneath the surgical cap expectant fathers wore in the delivery room, and holding a tiny receiving blanket-wrapped bundle. She held out her arms eagerly and Paul carefully passed the precious infant to her._

" _Grandma Del, this is my son, Paul Thomas Drake, the Third."_

" _Trey," she breathed in wonder, gently pushing aside the thin blanket to reveal the infant's squinty face._

 _Paul looked quizzically at her. "How did you know we're calling him Trey?"_

 _A large hand clapped down on Paul's shoulder. "Be _cause Trey follows Ace and Deuce."__

 _Paul looked at the two people who loved him for as long as he could remember and become defacto parents when his father died at far too young an age, and his mother couldn't be bothered with him._

" _He's gorgeous," she exclaimed, naturally swaying back and forth. "And he has blonde hair! Perry – look."_

 _He slid his arm around her waist and gazed down at his best friend's grandchild. "How much does he weigh? How long is he? How is Michelle doing?"_

 _Paul chuckled. Leave it to Grandpa Pare to want all the facts and Grandma Del to fall instantly in love. "Michelle is great and relieved he came so fast. She's resting, but wants to see you with the baby before he's taken to the nursery. He was born at 4:46, weighs seven pounds eleven ounces, and is twenty-two inches long."_

 _She added a little bounce to her graceful sway. "You're going to be tall like Grandpa Ace, aren't you beautiful boy?" she crooned. "And we're going to tell you all about him, because he would have loved you so much."_

 _He choked up at her words and tightened his hold. She leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing up at him with eyes that shone with every joyous, heartbreaking, exhilarating moment of their lives that led to this brand-new baby in her arms. "Hey, little man," he said with a catch in his voice, "welcome to the family."_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Traditionally following the conclusion of a trial, Perry and Della celebrated. Sometimes they celebrated with their clients; sometimes with Paul Drake and assorted friends within law enforcement ranks such as Lt. Arthur Tragg and even District Attorney Hamilton Burger; and sometimes they celebrated alone.

Perry made it known before being whisked off to the hospital that he wanted clients and associates to gather at the office. Della suspected it was to spare her having to socialize with Laura Parrish, and that he would conveniently use his injury to beg out of a bigger celebration with the Parrish family so they could celebrate alone.

That was just fine with her, because her preferred celebrations were those where they were the sole participants. And after this particular case, she deserved a private celebration.

Ken Malansky ably stepped into Perry's shoes as host, making sure the atmosphere was festive as he answered questions and explained what he could about Perry's strategies and thought processes; about how Suzy Richards had finally been located; and how Frank Bossit's recent cash purchase had raised suspicion; until the man himself appeared with his arm in a sling and a prescription for painkillers in his pocket that would most likely go unfilled.

Della hung back as the Parrish family swarmed him upon arrival, noticing that Laura Parrish had no difficulty whatsoever in tearfully telling him how grateful she was for him giving her back her daughter, and clinging to his good arm for all she was worth. He caught Della's eye a couple times, trying to gauge her mood, knowing that she was no doubt seething about what he'd told Ken to do, but as much as he wanted her with him in the emergency room, he needed her sensibility at the office more.

Ken popped the cork on a chilled bottle of Cristal, and during a flurry of toasts, jokes, tears, and hugs, Perry managed to make his way to Della and pull her into his private office while Max attempted to open another bottle of champagne.

She stood inches away, eyeing him critically, trying not to throw herself into his arms...well, _**arm**_. "Are you all right?" His suit was disheveled and his hand appeared slightly swollen, but otherwise his color was good and he didn't appear to be in much pain.

"I'm fine. Jammed my shoulder, twisted my elbow, and sprained my wrist. It doesn't hurt much."

"I was really scared." Still was. He had hurt all three major joints in his arm, for crying out loud!

"Forgive me. I didn't want you in the middle of all the commotion."

"If I have to allow you to tackle men half your age, Perry Mason, you have to allow me to be there when you get hurt. And you can't send Ken Malansky to manhandle me into submission."

His grin was lopsided and engagingly dimpled. "Who says I'll get hurt again?"

She leaned her forehead against his chest and sighed. "You're seventy years old. You are definitely going to get hurt again if you insist on living out boyhood fantasies of playing linebacker for the Green Bay Packers." He had taken knocks before, including a vicious kick in the knee, black eyes, bumps on the head, and several broken toes all for the sake of protecting her or a client.

He lifted her chin with his index finger and gently kissed her. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Della placed her hands flat against his chest, adjusting the fabric on the sling, and looked up into his deep blue eyes. "I'm not at all condoning what you did, but I will admit I was impressed."

"So I'm still your hero?"

"Always have been, always will be."

Before he could kiss her again, someone coughed behind them in the doorway.

"Son-of-a-biscuit," she muttered under breath. "Yes, Laura?"

Laura Parrish stepped forward boldly, eyes boring into Della's over Perry's shoulder. "I have something important to discuss with Perry."

With comic panic in his eyes, Perry mouthed "don't leave me," but Della merely smirked, patted his chest, and exited the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

"I'm afraid Della doesn't like me," Laura observed with forced cheerfulness, disappointed that the woman hadn't slammed the door. It would have supported what she planned to tell Perry about Della's earlier animosity.

"Have you given her a single reason to like you, Laura?"

His belligerent attitude thoroughly sucked the wind from her sails, Laura blinked her eyes rapidly. "Whatever do you mean? _**She's**_ been hostile toward _**me**_. Why, after the trial..."

Perry sighed and shook his head. Laura was not one for self-reflection or self-awareness, and he refused to take the bait about Della's supposed transgression. If anyone deserved to be hostile, it was Della Street, but he knew while she might have bested Laura with a few carefully placed barbs, she had long outgrown any inclination toward outward hostility. "Never mind. What is it you need to discuss?"

"Perry," she purred, closing the gap between them and placing her hands flat against his chest in the same manner as Della had, "don't play gruff attorney with me. You were so happy to see me at the wedding. Why are you being so mean now?"

He placed his hands over hers and firmly removed them from his chest. "I don't have patience for games, Laura." She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on whom. "What is it you want to discuss with me?"

She stuck her lip out in an adolescent pout. "I want to properly thank you for saving our daughter, and you won't –"

"Laura," he said sharply, "stop it. Let's cut through the bullshit of the last twenty-five years and put an end to your delusion right now."

Had he ever really liked Laura or truly been attracted to her? When he thought of her he remembered young Laura from when they first met – intelligent, fun-loving, articulate, involved in causes, married to a decent man who had quickly become a good friend. Could he not trust memories from that time of turmoil in his relationship with Della? He had been so wrong about his 'first' Laura, maybe how he remembered his 'other' Laura was idealized as well due to the circumstances surrounding their involvement and his attempt to reconcile what he'd done against a figment of his imagination.

Pushing aside Laura's crazy claim that Kaitlynn was his, he had accepted Max's offer to be a part of his daughter's life, because frankly, it helped in his personal grieving process, and thought when the baby was born Laura would realize it was her husband's child. Kaitlynn wasn't a replacement for the daughter he and Della lost, but he wanted to love her, needed to love her, and once Della knew the truth about everything, she understood, since she had amassed a staggering number of 'children' to fill the gaping hole in her own heart.

"What bullshit, Perry?" she asked sweetly. "Only a father would have done what you did for Kaitlynn."

"You don't know me at all, Laura. Any attorney worth his salt would have done what I did. However, I will admit that this case was highly personal. I love Kaitlynn."

"Of course you love your daughter," Laura literally cooed.

One fist clenched at his side, Perry stepped away from Laura Parrish, fearing he might shake her to within an inch of her life. "Laura, I've put up with a lot from you out of affection for Kaitlynn as well as respect for Max, and dammit, guilt over how I betrayed his friendship, but enough is enough. The gloves are off. Kaitlynn isn't my daughter and I'm prepared to prove it."

"I've put up with a lot from you, too, Perry Mason! I forgave you for staying with Della and letting another man raise your child, but have you given thought one to how much it hurts me when you say you aren't Kaitlynn's father? A woman knows who the father of her child is. I die a little inside every time you deny her."

Laura might be able to manipulate her husband as if it was her major in college, but Perry had decided he would not be manipulated by Laura anymore for the sake of keeping in touch with Kaitlynn. As an adult Kaitlynn could make up her own mind if she wanted to continue a relationship with him, or not, although with Della now in the mix, he suspected Kaitlynn would come around as often as her schedule allowed. "Do you not understand when I say that not only is Kaitlynn _**not**_ my child, she _**can't**_ be my child? Do I need to spell it out?" _It begins with a 'v'..._

Laura stepped forward and laid her hands on his chest again. He could be such a beast sometimes with his words, which always made her press harder to find the passion they once shared. "You proved she's your daughter by what you did for her. I will always be grateful, and I will always love you for giving her to me."

Perry roughly shoved his good hand in his pants pocket and took several long strides away from her to behind the massive mahogany Sligh desk. He needed space and the desk between them or he might strike a woman for the first time in his life when it wasn't in an effort to save her life. "You don't love me, Laura. And I don't love you. We had one night of sex that I barely remember and twenty-five years spent arguing over something that absolutely cannot be. Why can't you accept it? Max deserves better –" he suddenly stopped and pinned her with a fierce stare. "Have you told Max what happened between us?"

Laura looked stricken and her chin wobbled. "N-n-no you said not to. You aren't going to be a bastard and tell him are you?"

He had wondered how long it would take her to call him a bastard, her go-to pet name for him. "What's the matter, Laura? You've threatened to divorce Max about once a month for as long as I've known you. Why haven't you ever gone through with it?"

"If-if I had divorced Max, would you have left Della?"

"Not on your life, sister."

There it was again, the crassness that spurred her on. "That's why, you bastard! Why would I divorce Max if my daughter would be left fatherless?"

Perry snorted. "Quit with the drama, Laura. Max would not have abandoned Kaitlynn. As a matter of fact, I suspect that in the event of a divorce, the courts might actually have given him sole custody."

"That's absurd. Courts always give children to their mothers."

"Not if the mother is a lying adulterer."

The corners of Laura's mouth raised in a sly smile. "But Max doesn't know about that, and you won't tell him. He thinks you're his friend and that Kaitlynn is his. You wouldn't hurt him like that."

Perry looked down at his desk, which Della had cleared and dusted the night before. "I've already hurt him more than any man should be hurt," he replied sadly, "and I will live with that the rest of my life. No, I'm not going to tell Max. But I'll tell you what I am going to do."

"What is that?"

"I'm going to submit to a blood test. There have been a lot of advances in DNA research. It's even becoming commonplace in the courtroom."

Laura's sly smile morphed into a smirk. "You'll need Kaitlynn's blood. How will you get that?"

"Why, I'll ask her. She knows."

"She knows what?"

"She knows about us. By the way, she also knows Max is her father. They have the same ears and feet."

Laura melted into one of the leather wing-back client chairs. "H-how do you know...how do you know this?"

"She told Della, and Della confirmed it."

"And of course Della went running to you about it." Laura suddenly sat up straight, eyes flashing. "Why would Della tell Kaitlynn about our affair?"

"Because Kaitlynn asked her if it was true she could be my daughter. Della confirmed it was possible, but that she wasn't. Because, you see, Della knows Kaitlynn cannot be my daughter."

"How dare Della tell my daughter such lies! Who does she think she is?"

Perry leaned forward, propped up with his one good arm. "Della is the primary victim in all of this ugliness. I betrayed her, she forgave me, and I agreed to never tell her who the woman was. But after talking to you for five minutes ten years ago she realized it was you, and that Kaitlynn's birthday coincided with that night. Unfortunately she didn't have one very important piece of information and we spent three terrible years apart because of it. I'm to blame for that. I hadn't told her why Kaitlynn couldn't be mine, why no child could be mine."

"What is going on here?" Laura asked in bewilderment. "Kaitlynn is yours. I wasn't with Max for a week before and after we..."

"A week!" Perry exploded. "You said _**weeks**_."

Laura raised her chin defiantly. "The doctor gave me a conception date of the night we slept together. He was the preeminent doctor in Alexandria at the time. And I told you, a woman knows when she conceives."

"That's a load of bunk. Plenty of women have no idea they are pregnant. You've gone from weeks to a week. Was it really three days, four days?" Della hadn't suspected she was pregnant, and **_her_** highly renowned doctor had given them a three-day conception window due to a phase in their relationship when they were exceptionally affectionate. Perry sat down heavily in his leather swivel chair, waves of grief surging over him. "A blood test will put an end to this, and once the results come back that I am not Kaitlynn's father, I hope you will realize all the pain you've caused."

"W-what about Max?"

"Max won't have to know about the test. I like Max, and I will continue to be his friend. Since meeting Della he has mentioned the four of us getting together regularly. Unfortunately, that isn't going to happen, because I don't like you, Laura. Della, bless her, could probably find some redeeming quality in you, but I don't think I ever can. I'm done."

"You won't be done, because you'll have egg on your face when the test comes back you're Kaitlynn's father."

Perry rubbed the stubble along his jawline. Now that Kaitlynn was cleared of the murder charge, he realized how tired he was, physically and mentally. He should take Della to the lake house for a couple weeks and do nothing but fish, eat, lay in the hammock, and make love to her. Or maybe they could visit Paul and Michelle, and be doting grandparents to little Trey. Michelle was pregnant again, due soon. Maybe they could stay for a few weeks to help out. Della would like that. Heaving a huge sigh, he opened the center desk drawer and pulled out a piece of scrap paper.

"I'm going to write a word and a date," he said, all life drained from his voice. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Laura had to stop fantasizing. "It's the reason I can't be Kaitlynn's father. The only other person alive who knows about this is Della." He wrote the nine-letter word and six-digit date in perfect block letters and laboriously folded the paper in half by sliding it between the swollen fingers of his injured hand, then pushed it to the edge of the desk toward Laura.

Laura regarded the folded paper distastefully. "A word can't change the truth, Perry."

"This word can. Read it now or later, I don't care. Please leave my office."

Laura slid to the edge of the leather chair and snatched the paper from the desk. "Now who's being dramatic?" she inquired snidely. "This smacks of one of your famous courtroom stunts." She'd lived so long with the hope that one day the great Perry Mason would publically accept Kaitlynn as his daughter; that the world would recognize her as the woman who provided him an heir and not his sainted Della Street, but he had stubbornly refused to give her the slice of glory she craved.

Perry waved away her words wearily. "Go now, Laura."

Laura Parrish arose far more gracefully from the chair than she had sat down, back straight, head held high, classic features carved from ice. "You will regret how you've treated me, Perry Mason."

"I think that will be one regret I can live with." It dawned on him who Laura reminded him of: a former client named Eva Belter; the most conniving, manipulative, no-good woman he had ever met, and the only person to elicit hatred from Della Street. How could he have involved himself with either of them? Confronted with his own stupidity he was ashamed.

"You'll never see Kaitlynn or Max again when I tell them how horribly you treated me."

"Go ahead. Tell your husband and daughter what you've done, how you've manipulated not only me, but them all these years. It will be a big price to pay, but I'll finally have peace."

Laura made an unattractive noise in her throat and headed for the door. Just as she was about to open it, curiosity got the better of her and she unfolded the slip of paper. When she turned back to Perry, her face was devoid of color, jaw slackened. "You – you can't be serious."

"As serious as the last act of a Shakespearean tragedy."

Laura quickly jerked the door open and slammed it shut behind her.

Perry sat at his desk, sadly staring at the door for several minutes until Della opened it a crack. "Are you fit for company?"

"I'm fit for you, but no one else."

Della advanced into the room and lowered herself into the chair recently vacated by Laura Parrish. "Everyone is gone. Laura literally ran out the door."

"Good riddance."

Della observed the outline of sadness in the lines of his stony expression. "You told her."

He sighed deeply. "I offered to take a blood test, but she wouldn't back down. I had to tell her."

She dropped misty eyes to her left hand and the ring finger adorned with a large emerald set in platinum. "This is it, Perry. Laura Parrish is the last one. I won't stand by you if another member of your harem shows up on the doorstep in trouble. Ellen Payne nearly ended our relationship before it began; you cleared your calendar to accommodate Laura Robertson whenever she breezed into town and then arranged to 'bump' into her in Denver; Janice Barton and her noble gesture stirred your desire for the longest three weeks of my life…and how can we forget Maryann Baynum, or that woman Heidi for God's sake…the one who came to my office at Gordon Industries and handed me your tie and cuff links twelve years ago when I couldn't attend the Bar Association Christmas gala…oh, and that hostess Petty Kaylor...or your nymph Dorothy Fenner…"

Perry held up his good hand wearily. "I swear, Della. You will not have to deal with any more women from my past."

She remained silent, staring at the emerald, wanting so damn much to believe him.

He stood and came around to her side of the desk, knelt before her. "On my honor, Della, I will not let another woman from my past anywhere near you if I can help it. I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied with a catch in her voice. "I can't smile and act as if I know nothing or that it's okay for all these women to make a claim on you. A long time ago you said I belonged to you. Well, buster, _**you**_ belong to **_me_**."

"I have since the moment you walked into my office for your interview," he said softly. "I fell in love with you instantly."

Della sniffed and brushed away a tear. "You said it took ten seconds."

He chuckled. Still so sassy. "It took two months for you."

She leaned forward and ran her fingers through his still wavy, still thick hair. "I have a confession to make. I fell in love with you instantly, too."

"Then what on earth are we doing still here in the office, Miss Street?"

Their kiss was tender and resplendent with a long history together. "I haven't the slightest idea, Mr. Mason."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

A/N: The plan was to post this fluffy final chapter last Friday, but I ran out of time before heading up north to stand over the campfire with an umbrella so we wouldn't starve. Luckily I took an extra day off from work to dry out under that big, shiny yellow thing we haven't seen in several days.

Thank you for being patient with this story and for commenting. It means so much to know what you love to do is appreciated.

~ OED

 _Dinner was a disaster._

 _He had never liked Janet Mills Brent Simmons Kenyon, or any of her husbands. Her much older first husband had been exceptionally wealthy, prone to annoying feminine exclamations of "Fabulous!", and far too generous in regard to their divorce settlement when she predictably separated from him. The second husband, six years his wife's junior, had lasted longer than expected, surprisingly exiting the marriage with only a fraction of the assets husband number one handed over, as well as the balance of his estate when Alton Brent passed away without an heir._

 _Following her second divorce, Janet used quite a bit of Alton Brent's money to 'rejuvenate' herself, returning from an extensive trip abroad with a new face, a new body, and a new husband._

 _Husband number three John Kenyon was so obviously a feckless fortune hunter that Janet referred to him 'affectionately' as F. Hunter. According to gossip, John was nineteen years younger than his wife, but only Janet's closest friend, Della Street, knew the gap was actually twenty-three years._

 _John Kenyon was similar to Janet's previous husbands in that he could carry on lively conversations with women but struggled to keep his head above water when in the company of men. So while both women and the younger man seemingly had a grand time, he was relegated to glorified bartender/waiter, and by the time she closed the door on their visitors, he was more than ready for them to be gone._

" _Ah, silence," he hailed._

 _She turned and leaned against the door. "It wasn't that bad."_

" _I don't know what dinner party you attended, but the one I attended was pure torture."_

 _She patted his face sympathetically as she walked by him, picking up empty brandy snifters from the glass cocktail table and heading toward the kitchen, where she set them by the sink alongside dessert dishes dribbled with congealing chocolate sauce. "I thought he was delightful."_

" _Not fabulous?"_

 _She had to smile. For years she had kept Janet as far away from him as possible, but tonight had been virtually unavoidable. "I couldn't very well cancel when you decided at the last minute not to meet your gang of miscreants for dinner."_

" _I forgot about Janet and young Master Kenyon," he admitted ruefully. "I thought we would be alone. It's been so hectic lately and I wanted to have dinner with you. Just you."_

" _That would have been nice." She walked into his arms and snuggled against his broad chest. "We're alone now."_

" _I'm old and forgot why I wanted to be alone with you." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "Don't ever do what Janet did."_

 _She snickered. "What – dump you for a gigolo twenty years younger than me?" Their age difference had always concerned him more than it concerned her._

" _Twenty," he harrumphed. "Twenty-five is more like it. No, I mean, don't ever do anything like that to your face." Her leaving him for someone closer to her age was a long-standing fear, even though physically he could delight her every bit as much as he had thirty years ago. Maybe not as often, but with as much verve as ever._

 _She had to admit Janet's appearance left her speechless for an almost awkward amount of time when she opened the door. A successful fortune hunter herself, Janet's bank account was enough to attract younger men. There was no need to mutilate herself. "I won't if you won't," she promised._

" _I've never seen eyebrows up so high on a forehead before. I like your eyebrows exactly where they are."_

" _Unfortunately, dear, gravity has no mercy for women my age."_

 _He tilted her head up and lovingly inspected every inch of her face. She was beautiful and would always be beautiful, and he had been blessed to witness the exquisite blossoming from youth to mature woman. "Gravity hasn't stepped anywhere near you, kiddo."_

 _She sighed and nestled against him once more. "I might be able to jog your memory about why you wanted to be alone tonight."_

 _He drew in a sharp breath as her hands roamed downward. "I believe you have."_

 _She chuckled softly, took his hand, and led him from the kitchen._

" _What about the dishes?" He asked, obediently following her through the living room and down the hallway toward their spacious bedroom._

" _The dishes will be there in the morning for Trudy."_

" _No, you'll sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and straighten up before Trudy gets here."_

 _They were in the master bedroom now, and she kicked off signature three-inch pumps before turning into his embrace, a perfect fit beneath his chin. "I've turned over a new leaf. There are far more important things to worry about than dishes in the sink."_

 _He walked her backward toward the bed while she unknotted his tie, smiling down at her as she lowered herself to the mattress, using the ends of the tie to pull him down with her. "You're very forward tonight, Miss Street."_

 _She gasped when his mouth gently touched the side of her neck, one of her most sensitive areas. "Are you complaining?"_

 _He hovered over her, forever stunned by everything she was and he wasn't. "Not at all," he said softly, tears evident in passion-darkened eyes. "I've just never understood why –"_

" _Hush," she whispered, placing an elegant finger against his lips. "You don't have to understand, because I do."_

* * *

Kaitlynn Parrish and Gary Hawkes were married only a few days after her acquittal for the murder of Lon Hawkes. She wore a borrowed tea-length white faille princess dress with contrasting vertical black velvet cording ending in bows and small clusters of beads, and black beaded pumps to match. The mother of the bride was mortified, but the bride herself never looked more radiant. It was the dress that brought instant tears when she tried it on, and made her groom shamelessly shed tears as well.

The rescheduled wedding was smaller than originally planned, attended mostly by family and close friends. Security, vetted by Ken Malansky and approved by Perry Mason, kept Kaitlynn's and Gary's adoring fans far away from the Parrish home. No wedding crashers were found hiding in closets this time; although Suzy Richards was present as an invited guest and honorary bridesmaid.

Following the ceremony there were several tables of appetizers, a champagne fountain, and cake for guest to forage. The newlyweds never sat down as they personally thanked every guest for attending the simple, heartfelt wedding they had wanted since becoming engaged.

After Kaitlynn and Gary ran upstairs to change into traveling clothes, guests straggled out of the Parrish mansion to gather around the sleek black limousine that would take the newlyweds to the airfield where a private jet, also arranged by Perry Mason, awaited them.

Perry, injured arm still in a sling, cupped Della's elbow with his good hand. "Was it my imagination, or do I recognize Kaitlynn's dress?"

Della, resplendent in a white suit with scalloped, embroidered lapels that Kaitlynn had insisted she wear, smiled. "You have a good memory. I wore it in –"

"Nineteen-sixty," he interrupted.

She pressed herself against his side as his arm circled her waist. "You do have a good memory."

"So the shopping trip with Kaitlynn took place in your closet." This woman, to his dying day, would never cease to surprise him.

She nodded. "I have all those dresses..." her words trailed off.

He squeezed her tighter. "I know," he said gently. "You amaze me, Della Street."

"The dress is something borrowed, the shoes are new, she found the veil at an antique shop, and she'd kill me for telling you that her underwear is blue."

He chuckled delightedly. "I won't bring it up. By the way, not that I question your judgment or fashion sense, but isn't wearing white to a wedding considered gauche?" She practically glowed in the white suit.

"I'll have you know the bride herself insisted I wear the suit since it was my anniversary outfit this year, and we didn't have the opportunity to properly celebrate if you recall."

"You two are thick as thieves, aren't you?"

Della briefly laid her head on his shoulder. "She's a wonderful young lady."

"We'll have her and Gary over for dinner when they get back from the honeymoon."

"Pork roast on the grill, parsley potatoes, and creamed cucumbers," Della listed, and then laughed. "Kaitlynn and I already set a date. She and Gary are bringing the wine."

Lord, he loved her.

There was a slight commotion as the newly wedded couple appeared in the grand double doorway, Kaitlynn in a pastel aqua suit and Gary in light grey. They rushed to Perry and Della, giving each more hugs and kisses, Kaitlynn's freshly applied lipstick leaving a visible mark on Perry's cheek. Ken Malansky separated himself from Suzy Richards and her parents to join the hug-fest.

Gary jabbed his elbow into the investigator's ribs. "Were we a good team, or what?"

Ken shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "We had some moments."

"Moments!" Gary exclaimed, "I think we got a series here. I'll call you, Malansky." He grabbed Kaitlynn's hand and pulled her down the stairs toward where her parents awaited next to the limo.

Ken turned to Perry Mason, who was looking at Della with wonder. Ken sincerely hoped he could someday find a woman to look at that way. "We were a pretty good team, too."

Della winked at him. "You bet we were."

Ken took one step down the stairs, paused. "Well, I'm on my way."

"Enjoy your fishing trip!" Della sang.

Perry tore his eyes from Della. "Ken...we _**are**_ a pretty good team."

Ken, completely flummoxed, merely stared at the best criminal attorney in the world, his mentor, his father-figure, his friend.

Perry let go of Della and waved Ken away. "Bring back plenty of fish for a fish fry."

Ken grinned and ran down the steps, and disappeared into the crowd surrounding the limo where Kaitlynn was enfolded in her father's arms.

"Kaitlynn's father loves her very much," Della observed with a catch in her voice.

"Yes," Perry agreed, looking down at her with all the love in his heart, wishing he had two arms to embrace her. "Yes, he does."

She reached up to wipe Kaitlynn's lipstick from his cheek, and his large hand covered hers, the pinky rings they each wore on full display to anyone who might be watching.


End file.
